


The Measure of Our Torment

by Amorette



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 10:23:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4663086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amorette/pseuds/Amorette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years ago, Severus Snape's world fell apart. Can a returning Harry Potter put it back together again?<br/>An illustration for this story can be found at : http://ntzsch.deviantart.com/art/Junk-food-in-the-shop-410268170</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> This has been very popular in some circles. Or at least, a lot of people have read it. It has over 65,000 views on Skyehawke and 36 reviews. So maybe a lot of people read it and hated it. I don't know.
> 
> I've also noticed I am terrible about pacing chapter breaks. Sorry about that.

Title: The Measure of Our Torment  
Author: Amorette  
Beta: The Warty Hog and a final polish from Beth H  
Archive: Part of the From Dusk till Dawn Severus Snape/Harry Potter Fuh-Q-Fest  
at http://www.kardasi.com/HPSS/storyindex.htm  
Challenge: Post-Hogwarts, post-war

 

The Measure of Our Torment  
by Amorette

We have done with Hope and Honour. we are lost to Love and Truth,  
We are dropping down the ladder rung by rung;  
And the measure of our torment is the measure of our youth.  
God help us, for we knew the worst too young!  
\--Rudyard Kipling

Severus Snape cursed and threw his quill down, immediately regretting it as ink spattered on to his careful column of accounts. No matter how he calculated it, he was going to be short again the end of the month and would have to dip into what little was left in his Gringotts account. Rubbing his forehead with his hand, Snape cursed landlords and ingredient suppliers and lazy apprentices and most of all, the bloody Ministry that made it so bloody hard for him to earn a bloody living.

The bell above the front door chimed. Snape had spelled it the day after he rented this miserable little closet he called his shop so that it sounded less cheap and tinny than it really was, not that the charm deceived anyone He could hear his current apprentice, a former student who, like Snape, bore the burden of having been sorted in Slytherin at age eleven and therefore was forever outcast in the Wizarding World, greet whichever desperate witch or wizard was reduced to buying their potions from Severus Snape, rather than one of the more reputable apothecaries in Diagon Alley.

"SIR!"

Snape looked up. "Dwizzle? What is the matter?" 

If it was another of those Ministry twits come to inspect his premises to make certain that he wasn't practicing any of the Dark Arts, Snape was going to lose control of his temper, curse the blighter to hell and back and spend the rest of his days enjoying all the comforts of the new and improved Azkaban prison. Considering his current condition, it might even be an improvement. They were said to feed people regularly in Azkaban these days.

Dwizzle just pointed at the man who was standing in the doorway behind him.

"Hello, Professor."

Wonderful. One of his former students. He could only hope it was a Slytherin one come to buy something rather than one of his other students, come to gloat over how the mighty had fallen.

"Yes, what is is? Shut your mouth, Dwizzle, before you start catching flies."

The man laughed. "Don't recognize me, Snape? Well, it has been nearly ten years."

Only years of self control allowed Snape to school his expression as he recognized the green eyes and unruly black hair. He was a bit taller, broader in the shoulders, his face square with the maturity of manhood rather than still soft-edged with adolescence but it was, indubitably, unfortunately, Harry Potter, come back from his world travels to make Snape's rotten life even worse.

Snape carefully folded his hands. He gave Dwizzle a sharp look and the boy came to himself enough to nod and leave his employer and his guest alone, twitching the curtain that separated the tiny office from the tiny shop closed.

"To what do I owe this honor?" asked Snape, making it very clear in his tone that he was not honored at all.

Harry Potter laughed. "Good to see some things stay the same. I went looking for you at Hogwarts but the Headmistress said you quit teaching nine years ago."

"Considering that it was obvious to everyone that I loathed teaching and was dreadful at it, why should you be surprised I was no longer there?"

"May I sit?" 

Harry pointed at the stool that Dwizzle sometimes occupied. Snape nodded but was damned if he was going to offer what was left of his precious tea to the brat.

"I thought Professor Dumbledore convinced you to stay on, to be an example of the best of Slytherin."

Snape looked down at his frayed cuffs, hiding the little stab of pain that Potter's words inadvertently caused.

"After you left," Snape said, his voice expressing very clearly what he thought of Harry Potter's decision to travel aboard after the defeat of the Dark Lord, "the Ministry decided that there was no such thing as 'the best' of that particular House. There was quite a set to, when the Sorting Hat refused to quit sorting into Slytherin." Snape's mouth quirked a little at that. The Sorting Hat had been quite insulting to the Minister of Magic at the very suggestion. "In the end, it was decided that, since the Hat insisted on sorting into Slytherin, those students would be given the choice of entering another house. Any student who was foolish enough to want to remain in Slytherin would be permitted to do so, to be supervised by a non-Slytherin Head of House, to keep a better eye on them."

When he raised his head, Snape was surprised to see the boy. . .no, he was nearly thirty years old and no longer a boy. It was odd to see that face so adult. James had died in his early twenties, not quite fully mature. His son had now outlived the father by several years. . .Snape was surprised to see the man look so disapproving.

"It's true then," said Potter, his voice still tenor but deeper than it had been the last time Snape had seen him, at the ceremony where Potter was honored with a special new medal, the Order of Merlin, Extra Superior First Class, with Holly Clusters, "that Slytherin is seen as a second class house."

"And Slytherins are seen as second or even third class wizards." Snape snorted. "The Ministry keeps a very careful eye on those of us who were schooled in the House of the Snake. There are restrictions on what we can and cannot do. I cannot, for example, teach even if I so desired. I am restricted in the potions I can brew and sell and in the magic I can perform."

Snape was dimly surprised to feel his quill breaking in his hands. He muttered a quick spell to repair it, then looked back at Potter.

"That's not fair," said Potter.

"Brilliant observation, Potter. Now what do you want? I have work to do."

"As soon as I got home, I went to see Remus Lupin. It was two days past the full moon but he was sick in bed. He looked awful, ten times worse than when I last saw him. I didn't understand." Potter's voice took on an undercurrent of anger that Snape well understood. "He explained that the wolfsbane potion the Ministry provides isn't very good. It keeps him sane but has assorted noxious side effects. I asked him why you weren't brewing it for him and he said you couldn't."

Snape nodded. When he answered, his voice was bitter. "That is one of the many potions that I, as a well-known Slytherin, am forbidden to brew."

"But that's ridiculous!"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Another brilliant observation. I'd give a point to Gryffindor for your stunning insight but I'm not allowed. Now that you have pointed out the obvious, go away."

Potter ignored Snape's instruction and just tilted his head, studying his former professor, who went back to furiously recalculating his expenses.

"I don't suppose it occurred to the Ministry" Potter said conversationally, "that by ostracizing one quarter of the Wizarding population, they are setting themselves up to create a whole new wave of Dark Wizards."

Snape shrugged and put his quill down. No point in wasting ink. The figures weren't going to turn out any better no matter how many times he added them. "We are watched, as I said, very closely. I have my shop inspected by the Ministry four times a year, plus the odd surprise inspection. If I'm found in possession of any one of the thousands of items on the Restricted List, I get tossed into Azkaban sans trial. At least, with the Dementors gone, it is supposed to be less horrid. I've managed to avoid a personal visit myself but several of my former students have been there."

"I can't believe how. . .accepting you sound. The Snape I knew would be tearing his hair out."

Snape sighed, shaking his head. "That was a long time ago, Mr. Potter. I learnt the hard way that without. . ." His throat clenched closed. He took a slow, deep breath, "Without Albus Dumbledore on my side, it's a losing battle and, quite frankly, I'm tired of fighting any battle at all." 

Snape hadn't even realized Potter had stood up, until a hand was laid on his shoulder. He jerked back, giving Potter the best glare he could summon on the circumstances.

"I'm sorry, Professor."

Standing up, Snape walked the two paces it took to cross the room to stare out the small, dirty window. "What does any of it have to do with you, Potter? You left."

"I know." Now Potter sighed. "I shouldn't have."

In the shop proper, Snape could hear Dwizzle talking to someone. A woman, wanting something for her rash. Probably one of the whores who worked the dark side streets off the Alleys. Snape knew them only too well. She was probably a Slytherin, he thought, wincing, and if he went through the curtain, he would likely recognize her. She bought something, he heard Dwizzle counting out the change. Good. First sale today. Maybe there would be enough in the till for tea for the both of them that night.

"When I left," Potter was saying, his voice soft, "I was tired and angry and wanted to get away."

Same here, thought Snape. He lifted one hand and touched the window glass. His frayed robe slipped down and he noticed how thin his wrist was. Minerva used to tease him about his eating habits, how he could eat so much and stay so slim, his metabolism burning like a furnace. He didn't really miss teaching, except for the advanced classes, but he did miss his dungeons and he missed the food at Hogwarts. All that glorious food, designed to fill the endless empty bellies of growing children. Potter's voice suddenly brought him back from the contemplation of a nice piece of beef, perhaps with fried potatoes and Yorkshire pudding.

"I never intended to stay away so long but somehow. . .there was so much to see. Ron wrote and Molly, but they never told me any political news. And I never made an effort to find out what was going on here. Maybe Hermione. . ." Potter's voice faded.

"Miss Granger would have been astute enough to recognize the folly of the current Ministry policies, I have no doubt, but she couldn't have done any more for Slytherins than she did for house-elves." Snape considered it for a moment. "We wouldn't have welcomed her assistance, most likely, what with her well-known affiliations."

"No, probably not." Potter sighed. "They never did find her, did they?"

"No."

"Did she really do that to Draco?"

"Apparently. I wasn't there."

The two men fell silent, remembering the day when Harry Potter fulfilled his destiny and Severus Snape surprised himself by living through it all. Dwizzle was sweeping, the shop door open, talking to someone. He must have had enough sense to not mention Snape's visitor or there would have been a crowd bursting into see the long missing Harry Potter. It took Snape a moment to gather himself but he turned, making sure his robe swirled dramatically around him. His robes might be sadly worn and often mended but he still wore them well.

"Why are you here, Potter?"

"When I saw Remus, I found out about what the Ministry is doing. I want them to stop treating Slytherins as lepers before some disaffected Slytherin rises up to take Riddle's place."

Snape turned away from the window. The room wasn't very well lit. Except for the lantern above Snape's desk, the only other light in the room came from the window. Potter had moved away from the desk, his face pale under his dark hair. He wore, Snape noted, Muggle clothes, but his long dark overcoat was near enough to a robe not to attract attention. Besides, he was in Knockturn Alley, and people didn't look at other people too closely here.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter, do you think that poverty has made me a fool?"

Even in the dimly lit room, Snape could see Potter's flush.

"No, Professor."

"Then why not tell me the real reason you came here?"

Potter turned and pulled back the curtain to look into the shop. "Is there some place we can go that is more private?"

Snape wasn't about to invite Potter into the dank workroom downstairs and even less likely to invite him into the shabby bed sit he lived in upstairs so he just shook his head.

"Put up a silencing spell, for Merlin's sake. Or have you been so long away from the Wizarding World you have forgotten how?"

Potter turned. "I remember, Professor." Potter's voice had gone rather cold. He's a powerful wizard, Snape reminded himself, and a man full grown, no longer a child to be bullied. 

"Then put up a spell."

"Why don't you?"

"It's on the list of forbidden spells for me, Mr. Potter. Every time I touch my wand, it is recorded in the Ministry. Silencing spells are seen as suspicious." Snape didn't bother to hide the anger in his voice.

"Jesus." Potter shook his head. "All right, but first, could you send your assistant out for lunch? I'm starved."

Snape snorted. Potter looked quite well fed. He had lost that undernourished air that had surrounded him as a child. While still several inches shorter than Snape, his face was full, his body solid. 

"It's not yet half eleven, Mr. Potter."

"My treat." 

Snape's eyes narrowed. Charity from Harry Potter.

"For god's sake, Professor, you look worse than Remus, as if you haven't had a decent meal in years. Whatever you may think of me, I'm not stupid. Remus told me how difficult things have been for you and the other Slytherins. If you are so fucking proud you can't let me buy you a sandwich, fine, but I'm going to get lunch for me and that scrawny assistant of yours no matter what."

"Dwizzle," said Snape, feeling both humiliation and hunger burning in his belly, "His name is Augustus Dwizzle. He was sorted into Slytherin in your Seventh Year, but you probably don't remember. His parents weren't supporters of the Dark Lord and paid a heavy price so it's rather ironic he can't get a decent job, for a decent wage, himself. He's quite bright, did very well on his Potions' N.E.W.T. He'd be working for one of the top apothecaries or even St. Mungo's, if he had been sorted Ravenclaw. His sister was sorted Ravenclaw and she helps him out when she can but has to be careful. Even relatives of Slytherins are watched these days."

Potter nodded, then pulled the curtain back. Dwizzle was behind the counter, dusting some bottles. 

"Augustus," said Potter with cheerful familiarity. "The Professor is willing to let you do a favor for me."

The boy came out from behind the counter, smiling broadly. He was a moon-faced young man, with sandy blond hair and pale eyes. Snape was certain Potter didn't remember him at all.

"Of course, Mr. Potter. I'd be happy to."

"It's Harry." Potter dug into his pockets and pulled out a fistful of Galleons. "Run and get us some lunch. I'd like roast beef, with lots of mustard. Professor."

Dwizzle looked up at Snape, who nodded. "Roast beef as well, but light on the mustard. Get something for yourself as well."

Potter grinned. " No skimping, now. I've come a long way since breakfast and I'm hungry!"

"Yes, sir." Dwizzle grinned back. "Harry."

"I'm sure," said Snape, "you know enough not to mention Mr. Potter is here. We have work to do and don't want to be interrupted by gawkers."

Dwizzle nodded, then dashed away.

Snape considered turning the closed sign over but he needed every sale. Instead, he took up position behind the counter and suggested Harry stand just behind the curtain and they'd discuss innocuous things until Dwizzle returned to watch the shop.

"I should have come back for Dumbledore's funeral," Potter said softly, watching as Snape tidied the already immaculate displays. 

"People were disappointed," Snape admitted, frowning as the memories washed over him. "Minerva, especially, but we understood. You had endured enough grief to last a lifetime. And Albus went peacefully. The Ministry didn't start acting against Slytherins until he died. Literally."

"What do you mean?"

Snape placed his hands on the counter top, noting again how thin they were, how they looked like the hands of a wizard twice his age. He wasn't fifty yet he felt as if he were a thousand years old. He took a deep breath. The anger still burned, even after all this time.

"I was to deliver the eulogy. I was told I couldn't. That the Minister of Magic would. It was 'inappropriate' for me to speak because I was Slytherin." Snape made an effort and his fingers didn't curl into fists. "Minerva was practically apoplectic. I was so angry. . .some of the Minister's pet Aurors ended up stunning me. I was held in custody at the Ministry for three days while the changes were made at Hogwarts." He practically spat the word 'changes,' as he remembered coming back to find his belongings piled by the front gate, in the rain.

"And McGonagall let them!"

Snape's head snapped up. "We were all exhausted, Potter. The war had been over barely six months and Albus' death left us in shock. Minerva promised to try to change things but she didn't have Albus' power and influence and she could hardly go against the whole world!"

"And," said Potter, "She's Gryffindor."

"She still fought for us. She's fighting still. She barely hangs on as Headmistress because of her defense of Slytherins. As much as she loathes my House, she hates to see the will of the Founders distorted. And, like you, she is intelligent enough to see that mistreatment only breeds anger."

"Idiots."

Snape nodded. "Oh, yes."

"It's a shame you weren't allowed to speak. You have such a superb speaking voice."

Snape blinked and turned to stare at Potter, who gave him a half smile.

"It's true, you know. There isn't a student who took your classes who can recall your opening day speech without a shiver."

To his own surprise, Snape took the compliment. How miserable must I be, he thought, that a kind word from Harry Potter warms my soul. "Someone once told me," Snape said, not mentioning the 'someone' was the late, unlamented Lucius Malfoy, "I would be beautiful to a blind man."

Before Potter could respond, Dwizzle came bursting through the door, a grease-stained bag in his hand. Snape gave in and turned the sign to closed, pulled the stools out of his office, and the three of them spread out their repast on the counter in the shop. Dwizzle, being young, devoured his meal as fast as was physically possible, interspersing bites of sandwich with handfuls of crisps and gasping swallows of pumpkin juice. Potter ate more slowly, obviously amused by the speed with which Dwizzle consumed his repast. It was odd, thought Snape, that Harry Potter was now old enough to be indulgent about someone a few years his junior.

Snape ate slowly and carefully, savouring every bite. He'd had a very small bowl of plain porridge for breakfast and tea the night before had been one cheese sandwich and a few slices of apple he'd saved from lunch. Every meal had been like that for the past few years, barely enough to take the edge off his hunger. As his Gringotts account dwindled, he had taken to saving every knut he could. He couldn't bring himself to buy second rate ingredients for the few potions he was allowed to brew and sell so he cut back on his personal expenses. Every article of clothing he owned dated back to his days at Hogwarts, he hadn't purchased a new book in years and had sold many of his more valuable ones. His few personal possessions were all old, worn and well-mended.

He knew Potter was observing these same things as they ate, their conversation general and safe. Once, Snape would have been furious but after years of grinding poverty, growing more desperate every year, he no longer cared. He had been born poor and would die poor and those few years at Hogwarts, when he hadn't been wealthy but could afford a few luxuries, would linger happily in his memory, in spite of the other trials of the time.

"At least," he observed as Potter discussed the latest additions to Clan Weasley, "I'm not stuck at Hogwarts teaching another generation."

Potter gave him a lop-sided grin. "Now, Professor. I know Bill and Charlie and Percy were decent students. They all took N.E.W.T.s in Potions. And Ginny. . ."

"The twins were intelligent enough," Snape interrupted, enjoying the stunned look on Potter's face at the remark. "They just didn't apply themselves. Many of their successful products are based on experimental potions work, you know."

Dwizzle, who had been silent, except for chewing and gulping, said suddenly, "I wish I could work for them." Then he looked up at his employer in horror.

"It's all right, Dwizzle. You'd be an excellent employee for those matching monsters."

"Let me guess." Harry's voice was flat with anger. "You can't work for them."

Snape nodded, studying the last portion of his sandwich and deciding he would save it for tea. "Too much chance of 'corrupting youth.' They actually offered me a job a few years ago, even wanted me to work for them in secret, but I turned them down. Shut your mouth, Potter, you look as if you've been taking lessons from Dwizzle."

"You are protecting Fred and George Weasley!"

"I'm protecting myself, Potter. If the Ministry found out I was working illegally, I'd be in Azkaban. Although, I must admit, some days. . ." Snape sighed and started to wrap his remaining sandwich. "Wash up and open the shop, Dwizzle."

Snape's apprentice leapt to his feet to follow his master's orders. Potter stood up slowly, watching Snape carefully wrap half his sandwich and half his crisps back in the waxed paper and tuck them back into the bag. Then he stood up and walked into the office, saying, over his shoulder, "Mr. Potter and I will be in conference, Dwizzle. See we aren't bothered."

Potter actually chuckled at Snape's imperious tone, as if Snape expected throngs to be begging to see him. Merlin help him, it pleased Snape to amuse the Idiot Boy. Well, not so much an idiot and not so much a boy.

Snape took his place at his desk while Potter pulled the curtain closed, then put up a silencing charm that would have muted a dragon with heartburn, followed by a privacy spell that would keep out a rampaging hippogriff. Snape folded his arms and looked at Potter carefully, at the grim set to the young man's mouth, at the intensity in those green eyes.

"Now then, Mr. Potter, why are you here?"

"I was in New Zealand." At Snape's frown, Potter chuckled. "Pretty place, really."

"Very. . .agricultural, I'm told," said Snape.

"Yes. More sheep than people and outside the indigenous population, very few wizards and witches." Potter flicked his wand at the stool and it flowed into a comfortable Morris chair, with dark leather upholstery. He sat in it, giving Snape an ironic shrug, as if to say, I'm an adult now, I appreciate fine furniture. "One of the few I met had relatives in England. Slytherin relatives. She told me, really quite worried about them, that they were forming some sort of resistance."

Snape nodded. "I've heard rumors myself but since I am an obvious target and under Ministry observation, no one has approached me directly." Indirectly was another matter and one he wasn't discussing with Harry the Gryffindor Potter, no matter what Potter's intentions.

"They call themselves the Sons of the Serpent. No one has risen to be the leader and no major action has been taken but she said there have been. . .minor acts of terrorism against the Ministry."

"Minor, indeed." Snape waved a hand dismissively. "A bit of tampering with the floo network, rude graffiti on the sides of Ministry buildings, some indignant letters to the papers that weren't printed. Hardly worth coming halfway around the world for."

"I felt something." Potter's voice was hard, his hands tight on the arms of his chair. "Not the burn of Voldemort but a sense of. . .Darkness. Even half way around the world, I felt it. It's been getting stronger since I got here. A new Dark Lord hasn't risen but one is in the works."

"I know. With the Ministry behaving the way it has, it was inevitable. But don't you see, that's what the Ministry wants!"

"WHAT?"

"Think, Potter. Political opposition? Point to a rise in vandalism and blame Slytherins. Economy not doing well? Cry, 'look, Slytherins up to no good.' Internal dissent? If you oppose me, you must be in league with Dark Wizards. Need a scapegoat? Need someone to distract the masses and bear the blame for everything including weak tea and bad weather?" Snape leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low hiss. "Blame the Slytherins."

"But what happens if another really powerful Dark Wizard does gain a following?"

Snape smirked at Potter. "Then the Ministry calls in the most powerful Wizard in the World to save the day."

Before Potter could respond, a red light flickered around the curtain. Potter stared at it, puzzled, but Snape knew immediately what it was.

"Bugger." he muttered, "The Ministry. Better take down the spell before they blow the building up trying to remove it."

Potter stood up slowly, straightened his overcoat, then removed the spell. Two Aurors came bursting through the curtain, not taking into account how small the room was. One promptly ran into Potter's rather sturdy chair and swore, clutching a shin, while the other almost smashed his nose in the glass-fronted shelves opposite the doorway. The one in front of the shelves recovered first, spinning, wand out, and said loudly, "Cease any magical activity by order of the Minister of Magic."

"Ah, Mr. Thomas," said Snape smoothly, "So good of you to drop by. I'm sure you and Miss Ravenscroft remember Mr. Potter. I believe he was in your year, Mr. Thomas."

Dean Thomas blinked, staring at Potter, as if the prodigal twit had grown two heads in his long absence. Then he shouted, "HARRY!" and started shaking Potter's hand so enthusiastically, Snape expected him to jar the whole arm loose from the shoulder.

"Hullo, Dean," Potter responded with a grin. 

Snape stood silently in his corner, an ignored shadow, while the two former dormitory mates greeted each other and Thomas introduced his partner, a former Ravenclaw a few years Potter's junior.

"How long have you been back,Harry?" asked Thomas cheerfully, apparently completely forgetting why he had been bursting into Snape's office. "I hadn't heard anything about it."

"Got back day before yesterday and I've been trying to keep a low profile."

Thomas slapped Potter on the back again, then said, in a stage whisper, "You came to see Snape! Whatever for?"

Snape replied, sneering. "Because Potter and I have been secret lovers since he was a Fourth Year. None of your concern, Thomas."

Thomas' cheery face lost its smile as the Auror turned to face Snape. "May I remind you, you're on the Ministry Watch List. Any suspicious behavior from you and you'll be hauled in for questioning faster than you can Salazar Slytherin. That silencing spell. . ."

"Was cast by me." Potter said it calmly but Snape could see the anger in the man's eyes. "Professor Snape said the Ministry was monitoring his wand but he didn't mention it was monitoring his office as well."

It was Ravenscroft who answered, having recovered from her injury. "Snape is at the top of the list of Slytherins to be watched. Of course the Ministry keeps an eye on his premises."

"Why?"

Thomas and Ravenscroft exchanged a puzzled glance at that.

"Why?" repeated Thomas. "Because he's Snape, for Merlin's sake!"

Potter smiled but it was a grim smile. "As in Severus Snape, Order of Merlin, Second Class, the man who saved my life a dozen times and without whom, we'd all be bowing down to Voldemort. That Snape? The one who risked his life to spy for the Order of the Phoenix and who protected me in the final battle? That one?"

"Harry," whined Thomas, tugging Potter into the corner behind the chair and dropping his voice, "You've been gone a long time. Things have changed."

"Who's Minister of Magic these days, Dean? Dolores Umbridge? Because whoever it is is behaving like Umbridge, condemning without trial." 

While Thomas and Ravenscroft sputtered, it was Snape who answered. 

"Bilious Pertwee. He was Undersecretary of Something Unimportant during Fudge's tenure."

Ravenscroft glared at Snape, her chin lifted defiantly. "Minister Pertwee was Undersecretary to the Vice Minister of Experimental Spells, Untried Charms and Potential Potions prior to his appointment to Minister of Magic."

Potter shrugged. "Never heard of him."

"He was," said Snape, staring at Ravenscroft until she blinked and glanced away, "a compromise candidate, willing to do as the Wizengamot--once the nasty Slytherins were expelled from it, mind you--told him. Still is, as far as I know."

"Watch your mouth," commanded Thomas, pointing his wand threateningly at Snape. "He is the Minister of Magic and deserves your respect for trying to rebuild things after the end of the Riddle War."

Potter sighed. "Funny way of rebuilding 'things,' don't you think. Starts by destroying traditions a thousand years old and by mistreating a quarter of the wizards and witches in the country."

"Listen, Harry!" Thomas tried to look pleadingly at Potter while still maintaining a threatening glare at Snape. The effect made him look as if his lunch hadn't agreed with him. "You weren't here. There was confusion, especially after Dumbledore died, and the Wizengamot and Minister Pertwee were just trying to calm things down, get everything under control . . ."

"You keep using the word 'thing,' Dean. Don't you mean 'people.' The Wizengamot and the Minister were trying to find a way to create scapegoats and the Slytherins were handy."

Thomas frowned at Potter, lowering his wand. He might be foolish but he wasn't going to actively threaten the Saviour of the Wizarding World. "Slytherins were the cause of the problem."

"Anger and bitterness were the cause of the problem, Dean. Resentment and arrogance and greed were the cause of the problem." The expression on Potter's face made him look even older. "And leave us not forget that Peter Pettigrew, who made it possible for Voldemort to murder my parents and who was responsible for bringing Voldemort back into power, was a Gryffindor."

The two former Gryffindors glared at each other until Thomas finally turned away, muttering about 'difficulties.'

"If you are quite through," said Snape, sitting back down at his desk, knowing it resembled his desk in his old classroom and that the sight of him, looking down from it, still sent shudders through his former students, "Mr. Potter and I were having a private conversation about matters that don't concern you."

Ravenscroft shook her head. "Sorry, Snape. Mr. Potter is welcome to have private conversations but since you are on the Ministry Watch List. . ."

Potter sighed. "Which brings us back to my question. Why is Professor Snape being watched? He risked his life a hundred times over to prove his loyalty to Albus Dumbledore. Why is he suspect now?

The two Aurors exchanged shrugs before Thomas finally said, reluctantly, "I'm not sure, Harry. I suppose because he is Slytherin."

Potter continued to stare at them, until both Aurors were ducking their heads and shuffling their feet.

"Look," Thomas finally said, "You'd have to discuss that with the Undersecretary of Internal Security or someone in her office. Ernestine and I are just doing our job."

"You know, Dean, I don't think the Under something is the person I want to talk to. Professor, fancy a visit to the Minister of Magic?"

Snape considered it a moment, watching the Aurors exchange horrified looks. How would it look if he swept into the Ministry with the long missing Harry Potter as his companion? Snape felt his backbone, bent these last years by poverty and exhaustion, straighten.

"You know, Mr. Potter, I do believe that is an excellent suggestion."

Snape was a little startled by the wide, mischievous grin that Potter gave him in return. Mr. Thomas and his companion looked even more horrified.

With a wink at Snape, Potter said, "I think this afternoon would be perfect. I believe my schedule is free."

Snape opened his appointment book, noted the only thing scheduled for that afternoon was 'go to Gringotts' with an illustration of a bleeding turnip beside it. "I'm quite sure I can reschedule these appointments for such an important personage as the Minister of Magic."

"I don't know," muttered Thomas, "The Minister is awfully busy. He may not even be in. If you were to make an appointment I'm sure you could see him sometime soon. . ."

Potter narrowed his eyes. "You go and tell the Minister I'll be in to see him this afternoon at three o'clock. And if I am not in his office at three oh five, I'll be at the offices of the editor of the Daily Prophet, giving them an exclusive interview on how unwelcoming the Ministry was to Harry Potter."

Thomas frowned. "You've changed, Harry."

"I've grown up, Dean."

The two men exchanged glares for a few heartbeats, until Thomas said to his companion, "Let's go, Ernestine. We've been sent as Potter's errand boys." The woman gave both Potter and Snape a last, disapproving glance, before she and Thomas disappeared from Snape's office with a pop.

"You have changed, Potter," Snape said softly. "Threatening another Gryffindor. Using your reputation to get an audience with the Minister.

Potter shrugged. "As I said, Professor, I've grown up. I've learned that the people who insist on making you play by the rules are often cheating themselves."

"I suspect there is a story behind that comment but. . ." Snape held up his hand, forestalling any tales Potter might have to tell, "I doubt I want to hear it any more than you want to tell it."

"No." Potter's voice was soft. 

Snape stuck his head out of the curtain, snarling as he saw the glass Dwizzle was sweeping off the floor.

"What did those Ministry louts break this time?"

Dwizzle, whose pale face was pinched, gestured with his dust pan. "They shattered the glass on that case while trying to break through the spell. I tried to mend it but I couldn't."

Potter came out of the office. He frowned at the damage in the little shop, pulling his wand out. "I'm awfully good at mending spells," he said, giving Dwizzle a reassuring smile that Snape could see didn't reach Potter's eyes. With a flick of Potter's wand, the glass fragments sailed out of Dwizzle's dust pan and off the floor, swirling around in the air, sparkling, before settling back, intact, into the case. Snape raised an eyebrow. For such a minor repair, Potter radiated power. The boy had been strong when he left a decade ago, having absorbed a good deal of Riddle's benighted abilities. It seemed Potter had, as he had said, grown since then.

Two hours later, Snape and his companion were standing in front of a fireplace at the dram shop across the road from Snape's Specialty Potions. Potter had Apparated away after fixing Snape's broken case, then reappeared a half an hour later, dressed in proper Wizard's robes. 

Snape had taken the time to wash up and run some cleaning and mending spells over his clothing. He once owned a formal robe, with satin trim at the collar and a pattern of serpents subtly woven into the fabric. He had been wearing it the day he was to deliver Albus' eulogy. The Aurors had ripped it off while he was Petrified, spitting on it as they cursed Slytherins. He hadn't owned a formal robe since. So he wore his least mended regular robe, his least mended frock coat and a dark green silk cravat he had been saving for some undefined special occasion. As he put it on, he thought it was either wear it now or wear it in his coffin. Potter had brushed his fringe back, exposing the faint scar on his forehead. His robe wasn't the Gryffindor red and gold Snape expected but dark grey, over a grey suit with a black shirt and soft black necktie. Somehow the monochrome colors made his eyes appear even brighter.

"Something wrong," Potter had said when he caught Snape staring at him. "Spinach in my teeth?"

Snape shook his head. "No. Just getting used to a grown up Harry Potter."

Potter gave him a quick smile, one that did touch his eyes and made him look boyish. "I know. Startling, isn't it?"

The owner of the dram shop, who bought her potions from Snape, had offered them the use of her fire and Floo powder. She had some lung trouble and had told Potter earlier, and in unnecessary detail, how only Snape's Cough No More ever did her any good. 

"I was Hufflepuff myself," she said, handing Harry the pot of Floo powder, "But my late husband was Slytherin and a better man never lived. Terrible what the Ministry is doing to fine people like the Professor. You set things right, Mr. Harry Potter, and more will be grateful than not."

Potter blinked and thanked her solemnly, then tossed a handful of powder in the fire and directed it to take him to the Entry atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Snape thanked her politely as well, and followed.

He wasn't surprised, when he stepped out into the atrium, to find Potter already surrounded by Ministry minions. Two of them had red hair so Snape assumed they were Weasleys. He was ignored, so he took the time to look around, noting the new fountain, with Albus Dumbledore as the wizard whose hat spouted water, and the large statue of Harry Potter, which was a good dealer taller than the real Harry Potter. Both statues turned and looked at the commotion, but were soon still again. Snape was glad. He hated to see even an imitation of the Headmaster.

Potter was trying to make himself heard over the shouting in the atrium but wasn't having much luck. Snape was just slipping his wand in his hand, intending to cast an Sonorous spell over Potter, when someone grabbed his arm. Cursing himself, Snape realized he had allowed himself to be separated from Potter and now several Aurors were surrounding him. He had grown careless these last few years.

"Hello, Snape." said Miss Ravenscroft, her voice cold. "I see that, with Voldemort gone, you're attaching yourself to another powerful wizard. Offering yourself as Harry Potter's toady, are you?"

Snape summoned up one of his best sneers. "Surely you jest? A Slytherin like myself, toadying up to a Gryffindor like Potter. Never."

Thomas, his face grim, poked his wand at Snape. "Shut your mouth, Snape." With his free hand, Thomas snatched Snape's wand. "We don't have to listen to you insult Harry Potter."

Snape lifted an eyebrow, enjoying the blanch he got from several of the Aurors who had been his students in days past. "I wasn't insulting Harry Potter, Mr. Thomas. Unless you find the term 'Gryffindor' to be insulting. If you do, you can hardly blame . . ."

Ah, yes, thought Snape as the blow landed in the small of his back, causing him to gasp in surprise, Aurors often tend to be bullies. They like the physical abuse as well as the magical. Someone behind Snape grabbed a handful of hair and yanked Snape's head back so that Thomas could put his wand against Snape's throat.

"Ew," snickered Ravenscroft, making a face, "You touched his greasy hair. How can you stand it?"

Snape couldn't actually pick Potter out in the crowd as it was moving away from Snape, towards the farthest lift. You are a fool, Snape told himself as he watched the crowd retreat. You should have learned a long time ago never to hope.

The Aurors surrounding him were moving in the opposite direction as Potter. Snape struggled a little, knowing they were pulling him into some dark, secluded spot, but his heart wasn't in it. Oh, Albus, he thought wearily as Dumbledore's statue vanished around the corner, I miss you so much. He closed his eyes and let himself go limp as the first curse struck him.

The next few moments took Snape back more than a decade. He found himself considering that, when it came to casting curses designed to cause pain, these Aurors could stand to take lessons from real masters. Between the curses were a few well-aimed blows, kicks to his ribs, an open-handed slap across his face, the usual mundane bullying. It really was, Snape thought, very boring. 

"LET HIM GO!"

The wave of magic washed over Snape like cold water on a hot day. The Aurors surrounding him, instead of being refreshed, were thrown back, leaving him curled up on the floor. He found the sea image continuing and pictured himself as a crab.

Harry Potter, the crowd shuffling back to let him through, strode towards Snape. "Professor, are you all right?"

Snape took Potter's outstretched hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Years of practice came back to him and he straightened, concealing the wince as his ribs twinged painfully. Before Snape could answer Potter's inquiry, Potter had turned, his expression fierce. Again, the power and anger radiated off Potter. Snape was reminded of both the powerful wizards in whose service he had once toiled.

"What the hell is going on?" Potter's voice carried even without an amplification spell.

"Calm down, Harry," replied Thomas, looking uncomfortable. "You have been gone for ten years. . ."

"I know that. Did beating up innocent men become accepted practice in those ten years?"

"Listen, Potter," said another one of the Aurors, one Snape didn't immediately recognize, "We're talking about Snape here. This man is known to fund subversive organizations."

Ravenscroft interrupted before Snape could defend himself. She pointed at Snape with her wand. "We've been monitoring his Gringotts account for years. Money never goes in, only out, and most of it is unaccounted for."

"It is not," snapped Snape angrily, "unaccounted for!" 

Ravenscroft sneered, although Snape only gave her a mental five out of ten, compared to himself. "Then where does it go?"

"To former students of mine, not for 'subversive' reasons but for practical ones. They come to me because they can't pay their rent or buy school supplies for their children or put food on the table because they can't get decent jobs. So they come to their former Head of House and have to ask for help." Snape gave Ravenscroft one of his most superior sneers. "I admit it. I'm kind and generous. Now there's a crime!"

Potter had tipped his head to one side, studying Snape, who found himself adjusting his robes under the careful scrutiny. "Could you prove that?"

"What? That I gave money to my former students? I suppose so."

Before anyone else could speak, Potter turned suddenly to Dean Thomas and said, his voice cold, "Ten years ago, you weren't a bully who attacked a man without provocation. Is this what the Wizarding World has come to? A Gryffindor I once considered a friend turning into a brutal thug?"

Thomas ducked his head. "You don't understand, Harry."

"No," said Potter. "I don't."

"Mr. Potter!"

With perfect politician's timing, Minister Pertwee suddenly appeared. "Good gracious," said Pertwee, managing to sound sincerely surprised. "What is going on here?"

All of the Aurors started to answer but Potter silenced them with a wave of his wand. "These Aurors were just proving to me how far the world has fallen."

"Mr. Potter, I. . ."

Harry Potter raised his wand. The power crackled, turning the air blue as a high, clear note rang in Snape's ears. 

"You will summon the Wizengamot, Minister." Potter's voice rang in command, echoing through the hall and, Snape suspected, the whole of the Ministry. "At ten o'clock tomorrow morning, I will speak to them."

The Minister's mouth flapped but no sound came out.

"Ten o'clock," repeated Potter.

Before anyone else could say anything in protest, Potter reached over and, to Snape's considerable surprise, pulled the older man close against him as they Apparated out of the Ministry of Magic.


	2. A Thing with Feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that he's here, what is Harry going to do?

Before anyone else could say anything in protest, Potter reached over and, to Snape's considerable surprise, pulled the older man close against him as they Apparated out of the Ministry of Magic.

Snape gasped as found himself standing in his tiny office. Next to him, Potter staggered a little and leaned on the back of the chair that still remained Transfigured.

"You. . . The Ministry is warded. . ."

"I know." Potter bent over, his hands on his thighs, panting as if he had run a race. "But they haven't been renewing them the way they should. Whoo." He straightened. "Dumbledore actually taught me that trick, a way around certain Anti-Apparation wards. Didn't work at Hogwarts mind you." 

"I wouldn't try it now. Minerva has followed Albus' instructions very carefully. She may not match him for sheer power but she knows what she is doing."

"And Minister Pertwee," said Potter with a grin, "doesn't."

Suddenly weak in the knees, for more than one reason, Snape sat down on his stool, leaning on his desk. The figures he had been adding up that morning swam in front of his eyes.

"Is it true?" asked Potter. "You're broke because you give your money to needy Slytherins."

"Partly. This shop only makes expenses about half the time. I had some money saved from sixteen years at Hogwarts." He shrugged, fingering his quill. He needed a new nib but had put off buying one for weeks. "When someone comes to me, whether a former student or just another poor fool sorted in the House of the Serpent, they are desperate." He glanced at Potter, who was starting out the window. "They have to be desperate as I am not known for my generosity."

"Do you know who is practicing Dark Magic?"

"I have a suspicion or two. No proof. No one has come to me asking to fund Dark Revels or buy controlled potions. As I said, I have paid rent and school fees."

Potter rubbed his hands over his face, looking tired and much, much older. "Dean had his boot on your wand hand."

Snape looked at his hand, which was aching and would no doubt turn purple soon. "Was that him? I didn't notice."

"Jesus, Snape." Potter's shoulders sagged. "Are we all sheep that we let the Ministry do this to us?"

"People, Muggle or Magic, tend to complacency and cowardice. We like our comfortable lives and prefer to look the other way to avoid making ourselves uncomfortable."

"I KNOW THAT!" Potter shook his head apologetically. "I mean, I understand but how could Dean. . ."

Snape sighed and wished he had some whiskey--or any intoxicant, for that matter--somewhere. He hadn't been able to afford a drink in years. "We are bound by society. When society gives us permission to act like animals. . .Happens all the time. Throughout human history. Men are animals, Potter. No, worse. Animals don't attack other animals just to watch them suffer."

The light in the shop was dim. The lamp unlit, the sun having moved away from the window. Snape could barely see Potter in his grey clothes in the gloom.

"PROFESSOR!"

It was Dwizzle, poking his head through the curtain, eyes wide. "You're here!"

Irritated to be found sulking in the dark, Snape lit his lamp with a snap of his fingers. "Yes, we're back. What is it?"

Dwizzle held out a Daily Prophet, which was screaming "EXTRA" in a high-pitched squeak. Snape took it, silencing the miserable thing, then tilted it toward the light. Under the words SAVIOUR RETURNS, were two photos. Snape recognized them; they had been taken ten years before, when he received his Order of Merlin. His photo was standing ramrod straight, the medal hanging from a gold ribbon that annoyed him. It sparkled as he breathed. His image glanced up at him and gave him a puzzled look. Next to him was Potter, boyish and grinning, waving his hands at the crowd beyond the photo. Potter's Order was First Class, with Holly Clusters, and his ribbon was red and gold.

"Sweet Merlin," muttered Snape as he read the story. It recounted, breathlessly, the confrontation in the Ministry atrium. Unusually for the Prophet, the story was fairly accurate, although he frowned at the description of himself as a "gaunt shadow of his former self" and again at Potter being described as "stunningly handsome." Potter was nice to look at but "stunningly handsome" seemed a bit of an exaggeration.

'There's a crowd gathering outside," said Dwizzle nervously. "I closed the shop when I saw the paper. I know I probably shouldn't but. . ."

Snape looked at his apprentice. The boy was too thin, he thought. He said, "Good thinking, Dwizzle. Can't have all sorts of curiosity seekers wandering around like bulls in a china shop."

Potter stuck his head out the curtain, then pulled it back. "Quite a crowd." He pulled out his wand and muttered a few wards of protection. Snape felt them tingle across his skin like water. Potter had Power, no doubt about that, but a nice, light touch. Flitwick would be proud. 

Snape handed Potter the paper after the boy. . .man finished his magic. Potter stared at it and murmured, "Was I ever that young?"

"You were even younger, Mr. Potter."

Potter crumpled up the paper and dropped it, then stared at it on the floor for a moment before saying, his voice suddenly bright, "How about tea, then?"

Snape started to go for his last decent bit of tea but Potter stopped him. "No, no. Let me. I know this wonderful place. I'll be right back." Then he vanished with a pop.

Dwizzle turned to look at his employer. "Will he. . .do you think. . ."

"Will Mr. Potter convince the Wizengamot to remove the restrictions on Slytherins? Possibly. Will our lives suddenly be all happiness and light?" Dwizzle's hopeful eyes made Snape change his words. "It will take time." He winced as he turned. "I'm going upstairs."

Snape climbed the narrow, twisting steps that lead to his tiny chamber. The bathroom, such as it was, was on the last landing. He stopped there, then went on to his room, a few bottle of his potions in his hands. He hated to waste them on himself but his ribs and hand ached and he noticed blood when he pissed. Taking off his robe, coat and cravat, Snape unbuttoned his shirt so he could rub some salve on his ribs. He moved mechanically, swallowing his doses, barely noticing the taste, then started to rub salve on his ribs, hissing at his touch. He was trying very hard not to think about Potter and what Potter had stirred up. Hope was something that had never treated him very well.

He heard Potter talking to Dwizzle downstairs. He wiped his hands on a worn bit of toweling he kept next to his wash basin to clean off the salve and started buttoning his shirt. Potter, sounding like a herd of hippogriffs on the stair, burst into the room, a tray outstretched in his hands.

"Here you go, Professor."

Snape saw Potter take in the room, with the narrow bed and battered wardrobe along one wall, a table with one chair, a shelf on the wall above it holding a plate, bowl, cup and saucer, the only other furniture in the room an overstuffed chair with the stuffing leaking out of the cushion. It was, like the office and shop below, a dreary, cramped room that spoke of want. Potter said nothing, just set the tray with steaming pot and covered dishes, on the table.

"I only have service for one," Snape said, trying to sound as if the service were fine bone china and heavy sterling.

"No matter." Potter set what Snape had on the table, expanding the table top with a muttered charm, and transfigured the bowl into large mug. He did both without his wand.

"Dwizzle Apparated home. He got an owl from his mother, wanting to know what was going on and why he was mentioned in the Prophet."

Snape pulled his comfortable chair closer to the table and sat in it, taking time to study what was under all the lids. "Was he mentioned in the article? I didn't notice." There were sandwiches as well as cakes, and a bowl of fresh fruit.

"It says 'Snape's apprentice at his shop had no comment.' No name but his mum knew it was. Do you take lemon?"

With a glare at Potter, Snape poured his own tea, adding just a splash of milk. Then he picked out one of each of the delicate sandwiches and a scone. "You didn't get this at the Leaky Cauldron."

"No, no." Potter looked embarrassed. "I went to this posh Muggle hotel. I'm actually staying there. Amazing what the conversion rate of Galleons is to pounds. I ordered this up and then brought it back here."

Snape frowned. He'd never had tea from a posh Muggle hotel and wasn't sure he'd approve. After a sip of tea and a bite of scone with lemon curd, he decided Muggles did know how to make tea. Then he saw what Potter was eating.

"What on earth is that?"

"Hmmm? Oh, chicken tandoori. I love it and there's this great Indian restaurant near the hotel and picked some up as well. Want some?"

Snape shook his head. "No, Mr. Potter, thank you. I do not take chicken tandoori with my tea." He dabbed his lips with the linen napkin and found himself transported back to the High Table at Hogwarts. 

"Never had Indian food before I went to India," Potter was saying. "Wish I'd had some of Madame Pomfrey's Tummy Tranquillity with me on that trip. Ever been?"

"No." 

"Oh. Ever been to America?"

"No."

"Oh. The Orient or Africa?"

"I have been to the Continent a few times. Pass the cheese plate."

Potter tipped his head to one side and studied Snape. "Funny, you always struck me as sort of. . .all-knowing. Like you knew all the mysteries of life and had seen everything."

"It's the black clothes. Albus always looked like a raving idiot so people assumed he was one. I preferred the ominous and, as you put it, all-knowing look."

For some reason, Potter suddenly looked down at his plate, as if he were embarrassed. Or, thought Snape, as if he needed a good dose of Tummy Tranquility. He had a bottle of his version in the shop. Perhaps he should pour up a dose.

His voice soft, his eyes fixed on the napkin he was twisting in his lap, Potter said, "Do you know why I left?"

"I assumed the same reason any of us would have had to do so. Grief. Wanting to distance yourself." 

"Partly." Potter raised his head and fixed Snape with an intense stare. "And partly because of you."

Snape paused, cucumber and watercress sandwich half way to his mouth. "Me? I knew you disliked me. . ."

Potter laughed, a soft, self deprecating laugh. He pushed some of his chicken around in the sauce. "That last year, when you were trying so hard to teach me everything you could and I was trying so hard not to learn, I began to realize something, very much against my will."

"Aha. I always suspected you learned against your will."

Potter raised his head, smiling. "True. And this was a particularly difficult bit of knowledge." He took a deep breath, his face growing solemn. "I realized that I was attracted to you."

Severus stared at Potter, who raised his eyebrows, smiled faintly, and stared back.

"I know," Potter said. "Stunning revelation, that. Harry Potter was gay and wanted his nasty Potions Master. Not something I wanted to know, that's for certain."

Snape folded his hands on his lap, noting that his right hand was bruising some, in spite of his salves. Perhaps a bone was cracked. 

"Mr. Potter, I am aware that I am not one of your favorite people but surely you didn't come back to England just to. . ."

"I came back because of the sense of Darkness I felt. And because I wanted to see you."

"Me." Snape straightened, drawing his dignity, tattered and worn though it was, around himself like a shield. "Forgive me, Mr. Potter, if I doubt your word but I have owned a mirror for a number of years and know exactly what appearance I present to the world. I am an ugly, unpleasant man."

"True." The idiot sounded quite cheery. "You could use a good dentist, your nose is enormous, and your hair is worse than mine. But you are still a damned sexy man."

Snape didn't know if he should laugh or cry. Instead, he just stared blankly at Harry Potter, who continued to smile as he continued his explanation.

"I found myself watching you," Potter went on, folding his arms and leaning on the edge of the table. "You move like no one else. It's not just the billowing robes bit, which is impressive, you move gracefully, with an economy of motion. To an adolescent, tripping over his big feet, the way you move was very impressive. It used to distract me when you were trying to teach me to duel." When Snape tried to interrupt, Potter held up his hand. "I know, I know. You want to make some snide comment about my distraction but please, hear me out.

"I was seventeen, all bubbling hormones. I'm sure you remember that, feeling as if you could devote every waking hour to wanking. I thought I could win the gold medal in an international wanking contest. I imagined doing all sorts of mysterious things with all sorts of people but, in the end, it was your voice and your eyes and your hands I saw in my fantasies. Which disturbed me no end."

Snape wasn't sure he could remember being a sexually obsessed adolescent, although he knew he had been one, but he could imagine how disturbed Harry Potter must have felt, masturbating while thinking about Snape. The thought of Harry Potter, hand on prick, suddenly sent a warm surge through Snape's belly, a feeling he had almost forgotten. He focused intently on his tea.

"Two things really brought it home to me. That night, when I killed Voldemort, and you were beside me, protecting me from the other Death Eaters, I was aware of you, aware of your magic, your aura, and it. . .felt warm, like a blanket. Keeping me safe. My parent's love and Professor Snape's curses gave me what I needed to commit murder. Afterwards, you picked up me and carried me back to Hogwarts. Remember?"

Snape knew Potter's eyes were on him. Condemning himself as a coward, he watched his spoon swirl through the cooling dregs of his tea. Potter's voice continued, soft and intent.

"I wasn't unconscious, not completely. I was aware of being carried, of your arms around me, of your heartbeat, of the scent of wood smoke and whatever you carry with you. I felt. . .safe as I had never, ever felt before. I felt as if I could happily spend the rest of my life in your embrace. And I realized it was more than lust that pulled me to you. That it was love."

Snape's head came up at that, at the way Potter said the word. "You were seventeen. You couldn't tell the difference."

"Couldn't I? When we got our medals, you were looking as sour as usual, even though you finally got your Order of Merlin. The Headmaster said something to you, afterwards, as we were going to the banquet. I remember it very clearly." Potter snorted. "It's been engraved on my bloody brain every since. He put his hand on your chest and said something and you smiled."

"He changed the ribbon." Snape glanced over at the wardrobe. The medal was in a box, on the top shelf, underneath his extra blanket. The ribbon, after Albus' death, had reverted to its original state. "He turned it green and silver and told me. . ." Snape couldn't talk and couldn't understand why his eyes were stinging. He tried again. "Told me he was proud of me."

"And you smiled. Not a sneer or a smirk, but this sweet smile, and it . . .broke my heart. I wanted you to look at me like that. And at that instant, I decided to run as far away from that feeling as I possibly could."

Snape had no idea what to say. Potter's leaning forward to brush a tear off his cheek didn't help.

"Potter," Snape said, his voice strangled, "Surely you must be mistaken. . ."

"The first person I went to bed with was a Muggle woman, in New York, a week after I left England. I met her on a street corner. And no, don't look at me like that, she wasn't a professional, she was just. . ." Potter grinned, the corners of eyes crinkling. "Friendly."

"I hope you used a prophylactic. Even a Muggle one." Snape found he could steady his voice as he distanced himself from the man across the table, picturing the fumbling boy with some cheap Muggle strumpet.

"I did. I know you think I'm an idiot but I'm not." Potter started drawing patterns in the tandoori sauce again. "I figured out, over the next few years, that while I like women, I like men, too. Maybe, depending on the man, even more." He sighed, frowning a little, as if the pattern displeased him. "I met a shaman in South America. He was tall and thin and had black hair and eyes and an enormous nose." Potter gave Snape one of those grins again. "I think I even loved him a little. Our relationship made me admit to myself what I had been running away from."

"I thought you said you were in New Zealand."

"I was." Potter gave up on the chicken tandoori and took a handful of grapes. "That came later. I thought if I admitted I was attracted to you, I could deal with it and go on with my life. You see, before that, I was in denial. You can't solve a problem until you admit that it exists."

Snape repressed the urge to laugh. Potter might be a powerful wizard but he wasn't a philosopher. Instead, Snape canted an eyebrow at Potter and said, "That's rather obvious."

"True, but a lot of people don't seem to realize it. Anyway, I thought since I admitted it to myself, internalized it. . ." At Snape's frown, Potter added, "Muggle term. I spent the next several years trying to find someone to replace you. I thought, if I found a man I liked better than you, I wouldn't want you anymore.

"I tried but never had much luck. Then, a few weeks ago, I was in New Zealand, with a man who was neither tall nor thin but had black hair and black eyes and was Maori potions expert, and we were talking, with the woman I told you about earlier, the one with Slytherin relatives, when I felt this. . .wave of Darkness." 

Potter stood up and paced across the small room to the window. It was set in a dormer, the glass made of up a dozen tiny panes. Every pane had a slight ripple and the view it provided was of a watercolor abstract of Diagon Alley. Frankly, Snape thought it was the best view of Diagon Alley he had ever seen. The sun was setting and a few last rays managed to peek through the window and sparkled on Potter's spectacles.

Potter raised his hand and touched the glass, as if it interested him, while his voice continued, distant and sad. "I felt as if I could look right through the center of the earth and see this seething mass of Darkness building up, right under Great Britain. I started shivering and that's when the woman told me about her Slytherin relatives and that she was worried about what they might do. I found myself turning to Tam, he is the Maori, and was suddenly startled to see how dark his skin was and how broad his face was. I was expecting to see you. I realized, quite clearly, that I needed to see you."

"Ah. A vision. I believe the current Divinations teacher at Hogwarts could help you with that."

"Did you feel it?"

Snape folded his napkin, considering how to answer the question. For one thing, he wasn't even sure what Potter was asking. Did he feel the Darkness? Yes. Did he feel the attraction? That was a more difficult question. Snape chose the easier one.

"A few weeks ago, I woke up with a ghastly nightmare. I used to have them, quite a bit, back. . " That wasn't what he wanted to say. "I woke up and I thought, some idiot is trying to summon the Dementors back from wherever Albus sent them, the miserable creatures."

Potter turned away from the window. "So that's what I felt. Explains the coldness." The younger man took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. "People are idiots."

Snape snorted. "Finally, a Gryffindor admits it. There may be hope for you yet, Potter."

"Harry."

Potter took the two steps back from the window but instead of going to sit down again, at his cold plate, he stopped, standing in front of Snape.

"I'm close to thirty years old. I feel sometimes as if I were a thousand. I think I'm old enough for you to call me by my given name. We're equals now."

Equals. The hysterical laugh tickled the back of his throat again. Potter was, like Voldemort and Dumbledore, far above the equal of one tired, discouraged, lonely wizard with an aching hand. Snape drew on the courage he kept buried deep in his soul and lifted his chin so he could meet Potter's. . .Harry's. . .gaze.

"I suppose you want to call me by my given name."

"Unless you have some adorable nickname you'd prefer."

"Mr. Potter, anyone who ever tried to give me an adorable nickname promptly discovered just how skilled I am with hexes."

Potter. . .Harry. . .threw his head back and laughed, a rich, delighted sound. Then, still smiling, leaned over and kissed Snape gently on the mouth. Harry wasn't much taller than he had been ten years before and Snape was half a head again taller but the position, Harry standing and himself sitting, made Snape feel very small and vulnerable.

"Severus," whispered Harry, his breath against Severus' ear. Then the younger man reached and touched Severus' hand, probably not intending to get the reaction he got, when Severus hissed and recoiled in pain.

Severus felt it again, the wave of anger from Harry.

"God damn them," muttered Harry, picking up Severus' hand. Harry's hand was smaller than Severus', with shorter fingers, the nails not stained by years of potion brewing. As Harry laid his other hand on top of Severus', pressing the older man's hand between Harry's palms, Severus felt another wave of magic, not angry but gentle and soothing. The ache in his hand melted away before it. "Did they hurt you any place else?"

"I took some potions. . ." Severus felt himself tugged to his feet. Standing, so that he looked down at Harry, he felt less threatened but there was still something very disturbing about the way Harry's hand slid over the linen covering Severus' bruised ribs. Severus hadn't put his jacket back on, only his robes over his shirt, not wanting to fumble with those buttons with his injured hand, and now he regretted it.

The warmth flowed from Harry's touch and made Severus gasp.

"I like that sound," murmured Harry, tilting his head up for a kiss. What could Severus do but respond?

It was a slow, gentle kiss, just the brushing of lips. Severus could taste the exotic spices on Harry's lips and in his soft, sighing breath. Harry pulled back, smiling at Severus.

"I knew, when I left, that any sort of relationship between us, between Professor Snape and The Boy Who Lived, was impossible."

Severus tried to ignore Harry's nimble fingers, that were slowly easing the flat bone buttons out of the loops that held Severus' shirt closed. "So what are you doing here?"

"That was when I left." The smile changed, no longer innocent but smoldering. "I'm not a child. In fact, I'm all grown up and have a pretty fair of idea of exactly what I want to do to you, which I didn't have back then."

"And you're so sure," said Severus, surprised to find his fingers working the buttons on Harry's shirt, "that I want to do whatever this is with you. Perhaps I like only women."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "If you liked only women, the first time I mentioned my attraction, you would have immediately protested and insisted on your own determined heterosexuality."

"Is that the voice of experience speaking?"

"Very much so." 

Harry's hands had finished with Severus' buttons and were now sliding against Severus' skin. Severus made an effort not to pull away. It has been so long since anyone had touched Severus, so long ago he could hardly remember it. The last time, Severus hadn't been half-starved. How would Harry react when he saw the thin, aged body under the clothing?

"I have other experiences," Harry was saying, pulling Severus back from contemplation of his physical failings, "A broad range of experience that I didn't have before. Want me to show you what I have learned? Some things I truly enjoyed learning?"

Harry had backed them slowly towards the narrow bed. Somehow along the route, Severus' shirt and now his trouser buttons had come undone. So, Severus was pleased to note, had Harry's. 

The boy was gone, his childhood never really innocent, and the man who stood before Severus Snape was very definitely an experienced adult. Severus sat down on the edge of the bed, looked up into Harry's world weary eyes, and nodded.

The both lay back on the bed. Severus expected Harry to perform some sort of expansion spell. Surely someone with Harry's power was capable of it? Severus could do it himself, making his bed wide enough for two, but he'd have to sit up and retrieve his wand from his robe, which was now hanging over the back of a chair. Apparently, Harry didn't think the bed was too small because he laid his holly wand on the table as he pulled off his shirt.

Harry wasn't thin, rather, his body was still Seeker slender and lightly muscled. His skin was golden all over and Severus suddenly had an image of Harry lying naked on the sand on that beach on the other side of the world. Severus whispered the word to extinguish the candle but the room wasn't completely dark so he quickly reached up to pull off Harry's spectacles, holding them, uncertain what to do with them.

"Don't want me to see clearly," murmured Harry, taking the spectacles from Severus' hand and tossing them precisely onto the table, next to the plate of chicken tandoori. "Are you vain, Severus Snape?"

"I'm twenty years older than you are and today I ate the first decent meal I've had since Christmas dinner with Dwizzle's parents. You could use my ribcage for a xylophone. My skin is the color of a flounder's belly, my knees are knobby and I have an unattractive collection of scars." He said this all in a flat voice but Harry, who was sitting back on his heels while removing first his own trousers, then Severus', was grinning. "If that sight repulses you, it will make it less likely that I have sex for the first time in so many years I've lost count."

Harry laughed out loud. "I never said I wanted you for your physical appearance."

"True." Severus didn't say out loud why he suspected he was in this position, lying under a naked Harry Potter, who was now bending over to kiss him again.

A warm body in his arms, a mouth pressed against his, it was almost more than Severus could bear. His cock was pressed against Harry's, stiffening slowly, as if it, too, were surprised to find itself in this situation. 

Harry moved slowly, demonstrating what he had learned in the decade he had been gone. Severus lay back and let him. Even in the days when Severus had sex somewhat regularly, he knew full well he hadn't been all that gifted at it. Harry's hand skimmed slowly over Severus' torso, thumbs pausing to rub against the nipples that were dark against the pale, pale skin, which made Severus shudder.

"I've wondered," Harry breathed, rocking his cock against Severus', "if you ever moan in pleasure. I used to imagine what that would sound like, that voice of yours, when you were enjoying yourself."

"I tend," Severus admitted, surprised to find his own hands sliding up Harry's thighs, enjoying the feel of smooth skin over hard muscle, "to be rather quiet."

Harry chuckled, leaning forward. "Not tonight."

Sweet Merlin, though Severus as Harry kissed him, the younger man's tongue sliding between Severus' lips, Harry Potter was going to make him moan. 

Severus' experience with sex had been, unsurprisingly, rather limited. There had been a few desperate adolescent gropes during his school years, with members of both sexes, usually predicated on Severus providing either tutoring or a particular potion. He had heard the stories about Death Eater orgies when he was in school and was sad to learn, upon taking the Dark Mark, they were just that, stories. After all, the majority of the Death Eaters were married couples and, with the exception of the Black sisters and Lucius Malfoy, not people who were especially attractive. In the end, there has been one night stands, often paid for with potions. After he started teaching, Severus had two longer relationships, one with a woman in Hogsmeade, the other with an apothecary in Diagon Alley. Neither of them had been affairs of grand passion, more of convenience. Both had faded away without any effort or concern.

Then Harry Potter had come to Hogwarts and all of Severus Snape's attention had been on that child, protecting that child, waiting for the monster to return because of that child. That beautiful, tormented, tormenting child. . .

. . .Who was now a man running his hands over Severus' body. No one had done that before, covered Severus with slow, gentle caresses, explored his body with tongue and lips and finger tips. Who would want to? Surely not Harry Potter and yet, it was Harry Potter's hands sliding between Severus' thighs, Harry Potter's mouth doing hot, wet things to Severus' prick.

In those ten years, thought Severus vaguely, his mind distracted by what Harry was doing between his legs, the boy had grown into a man who had gotten very good at sex. Harry was sucking Severus' cock with perfect suction, one hand stroking the shaft with a tight, sure stroke, while the other feathered back, pressing behind his testicles, finding that sensitive place where the pressure sent surges of pleasure through Severus' body.

Severus' hands were wrapped in Harry's hair, his hips pushing up into the wet warmth. His head thrashed back and forth on his pillow as he arched his back and moaned, moaned with physical pleasure he was sure he had never felt before, moaned and whimpered and cried out as Harry pulled away.

"Ah," murmured Harry with a chuckle, sliding up Severus' trembling, sweaty, body. "I thought so. What a wonderful sound."

Then they were pressed together, chest to chest, cock to cock, legs intertwined, hands searching and clutching. Severus had never been that found of kissing before. It always struck him as slightly unsanitary and certainly unnecessary but now, his mouth seeking Harry's blindly, kissing seemed every bit as important as the friction between them.

Severus was surprised to find himself gasping out "Harry" as he felt his climax wash over him. Harry must have liked it because he groaned, pushed Severus down into the thin mattress and spurted his satisfaction onto Severus' belly.

Stunned, Severus lay on the bed, barely noticing Harry using wandless magic to remove the evidence of their orgasms. The other man sighed and tucked himself close to Severus as he pulled the blankets over them.

"Hope you're not disappointed," Harry was saying softly, his voice slurred and sleepy.

"Disappointed?" Severus looked as Harry as if he thought the younger man were mad. "By what? The only disappointing thing in this bed is me. And the mattress."

Harry laughed. "I wasn't disappointed. Hell of a moan you've got there, Severus." He yawned suddenly, snuggling into Severus' bony shoulder. "I promise, when I'm not so tired and I'm not overwhelmed by ten years worth of pent up lust, I'll make you moan so loud the plaster cracks."

Severus didn't reply, just pulled away so that Harry was forced to lie on their shared pillow. The plaster was already cracked, Severus thought, so what does Harry Potter really want with me?

As he often did, Severus awoke with a start. He rarely remembered the details of his dreams, just the sense of unease that went with them. This morning, he woke up to find Harry Potter lying next to him on the bed, their bodies touching, since there was no space for them to move apart. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Man-Who-Wanted-Severus-Snape, was lying on his stomach, one arm hanging over the side of the bed, sound asleep and drooling. Cautiously, Severus slid out of the bed, snatching his robe off the chair, and made his way down to the bathroom.

Not for the first time, Severus was glad he had long ago hexed his mirror into silence. His hair was standing up from having slept on it oddly and he had a purpling mark on his throat that was obviously left by the suction of someone's lips. Wonderful. He pointed his wand at the boiler and managed a few inches of hot water, enough to bathe away the previous evening's activities. After drying off, he went back to his room where he found Harry Potter awake and sipping a cup tea, wearing only a pair of underpants, while reading the Morning Prophet.

"We've made the news," Harry said cheerily as Severus found his usual clothes and dressed as quickly as possible. The front page of the paper showed Harry in the crowd in the Ministry atrium with an inset at the bottom of Severus that must have been taken during that unpleasant afternoon's "testimony" before the Board of Governors just before he had been summarily dismissed from Hogwarts. 

"How wonderful." Severus was fastening his buttons as quickly as he could, trying not to be aware of Harry's eyes on him.

"What's wrong, Severus? Surely you aren't uncomfortable with what happened last night? We are no longer teacher and student, you know."

Severus straightened, peering down at Harry from his full height. "I am aware of that, Mr. Potter. I am also not inclined to sit around in my underclothes."

Harry ducked his head, looking embarrassed, and muttered "Sorry," as he reached for his trousers.

"It's half eight. I thought we might have some of last night's tea for breakfast, since I don't care to go shopping this morning. I noticed there is a crowd outside."

Harry bounced over to the window, tugging his trousers up as he went. "You're right. Quite a good-sized one. When does Augustus come in? I set the wards so he can Apparate in but no one else."

"He should be here shortly." Severus sat down and tapped the tea pot, warming up the previous night's dregs. He thought, as he nibbled a dried out sandwich, that there had been a time when he would have tossed the whole table's worth into the rubbish before eating a bite of it but that was before he remembered what it was like to be achingly hungry.

Harry sat across from him, nudging at his leg with a stockinged foot. "You always such a delight in the morning?"

"As I said, Dwizzle will be here shortly but if you require me. . ."

Harry sat up so quickly that the table jerked and Severus nearly spilt his tea. The younger man's eyes narrowed as he studied Severus, who found himself remembering those Occulmency lessons from long ago.

"Require? Was that what you thought last night was? Some sort of 'requirement'?"

"Powerful wizards have required different things from me over the years."

"Jesus." Harry rubbed his forehead. "That wasn't a requirement, that was. . . "

"PROFESSOR!" Dwizzle's voice shouted from downstairs. 

More than willing to avoid Harry's confession, Severus slipped past him and down the stairs, to find Dwizzle, looking even more scatter-brained than usual, standing in his office. Severus' apprentice had the Morning Prophet in his hand, too.

"There are a million people out front. . ." the boy began with a stammer. 

"Surely not. There isn't room."

Dwizzle flushed. "Well, hundreds anyway. Harry's wards are keeping them back."

"And their mood, Mr. Dwizzle?" asked Severus, keeping his voice calm even as he felt his pulse start to race.

"Mood?"

"Are they here to congratulate Mr. Potter or to disembowel him?"

"Congratulate, I think. Headmistress McGonagall is here and I don't think she'd let the crowd hurt Harry."

Severus closed his eyes. Minerva. She had tried so hard for those first few months, when he was living in the tiny cottage he called home when not at Hogwarts, writing letters, calling in favors, but the Wizarding World had turned its back on the Slytherins. When he opened his first shop, the nicer one, on Diagon Alley proper, she had been one of his first customers, swearing to him that he would be reinstated at Hogwarts before the next term started. As his fortunes worsened, her visits became fewer, although whether because of guilt that she couldn't help him or embarrassment for how low he had fallen, he couldn't say. It had been over a year since their last, brief communication, a letter recommending another former Slytherin to him as an apprentice. He would have taken the girl on, too, if he could have afforded to pay her. In the end, he kept Dwizzle and the girl, last he heard, was working as clerk in some secondhand robe shop in the Wizarding section of Bournemouth. Better than selling herself in Knockturn Alley, the way some Slytherins were.

"Severus?"

He blinked, surprised to find his eyes still closed. Potter had gotten dressed in the same robes he had worn yesterday. He looked adult and responsible, so unlike the child Severus had known.

"We'd better go out and see Minerva at least," Severus said. "She hates to be kept waiting."

There weren't millions of wizards and witches in front of Snape's Specialty Potions but the narrow street was crowded. Dwizzle was right. Minerva McGonagall was in the front of the crowd, a tiny, respectful space around her. Next to her was Arthur Weasley, in his best robes, looking confused. As soon as Harry and Severus stepped out, they were embraced, Severus by Minerva and Harry by Arthur.

"Oh, Severus," sighed Minerva, pressing her face against his shoulder. "It should never have come to this."

"Now, now," he replied stiffly. Comfort was not his long suit. He glanced over her head and saw Blaise Zabini with his wife and their children. Zabini stepped forward, holding out the newspaper.

"I'll testify, Professor," Severus' former student said, his face grim, "that the money you gave me went for the rent and robes for the children."

Severus answered with a solemn nod. He was vaguely aware of Harry nearly shouting at poor Arthur Weasley.

"Potter," he said sharply. "Arthur could hardly sway the whole of the Wizarding World. Don't blame him."

To Severus' surprise, Arthur said, "You should, Severus. I was one of those who went along."

There were so many people, all pressing forward, trying to embrace Harry or speak to Severus, that Severus felt a wave of panic. He stepped back towards the shop when he became aware of a strong body, standing, almost protectively, next to his. Harry raised his wand for silence and the crowd obeyed.

"Professor Snape and I," Harry began, "are going to meet with the Wizengamot in less than an hour. What I want to know is who is here to support my petition to reinstate full rights to Slytherins and who is against it?"

Against it? Against Harry Potter? Severus almost laughed. Potter was doing it again, radiating power the way Albus used to. At first, Severus had thought the Headmaster did it unconsciously, simply putting it out as if he were a lamp but Severus has realized, over the years, that Albus Dumbledore knew exactly what he was doing. Severus suspected it was the same for Harry.

The crowd surged forward. There was shouting, none of it, Severus noted, in opposition. For one thing, a goodly portion of them seemed to be former students of Severus'.

After a few, confused moments, which made Severus slide the butt of his wand into the palm of his hand, the crowd quieted and it became obvious that they had come to support Harry, whether they were Slytherins or not. Severus didn't know if they were throwing their lot in with the most powerful wizard around or genuinely believed the Ministry to be wrong but he found himself aware of a vaguely disquieting feeling he realized was the faintest flicker of hope.

"Are you going like that, Severus?" Minerva McGonagall's brisk voice brought Severus back to himself. He slid his wand back up his sleeve unobtrusively and turned to her.

"Would you prefer I wear my old Slytherin scarf? I imagine it's up in my room somewhere."

Minerva's thin lips drew even thinner as she gestured at his robe. The hem was worn, there was a obviously lighter spot over one knee, where some potion ingredient had bleached it and the cuffs were frayed.

"Surely you should dress for meeting with the Wizengamot."

Severus laughed, a harsh, barking, sound, as he tugged at his robe, letting the pull of the fabric accentuate how thin he was. "In what, Minerva? My shiny best? This is the best I've got. Let those arrogant gits see what they've made of me. No doubt they'll enjoy it."

To Severus' horror, Minerva's eyes filled with tears and she embraced him again, sobbing into his robe, "I'm so sorry. Albus would never forgive me if he saw you like this." She stepped back, sniffling, laying a hand on his arm. "You shouldn't forgive me, either."

"Don't cry, Minerva," he said, embarrassed, digging in his pocket for his handkerchief, even though he knew it was as worn as everything else.

McGonagall straightened, wiping her face with her own lace-trimmed hanky. "No, Severus, I won't cry. I'll yell and tear my hair and toss a few hexes but I won't cry."

Behind him, Severus heard Harry laugh and felt the younger man clap him on the shoulder.

"That's the spirit," Harry said cheerfully. "Now, shall we borrow your neighbor's floo?"

Severus felt very odd as the cheering crowd parted before them. Someone sent up a shower of green and silver sparks. Several people patted Snape on the back, although, he noticed, no one who did that was someone who actually knew him well. Minerva, in her authoritative way, sorted out who would follow them to the Ministry, since they could hardly squeeze everyone through the dram shop floo. Herself, of course, Arthur Weasley, Blaise Zabini and his family, a few other younger Slytherins who Severus had helped and a few whom Minerva seemed to recognize and thought would further their case. The rest seemed content to mill about the alley until later or perhaps go home and write a furious owl to the Ministry or the Prophet. Crowds, thought Severus as he gave them a last look, were disconcerting.

Wait. Who was that at the back. . .before he could be sure, Harry was tugging him forward and they were whirled away to the Ministry.

Another crowd awaited them at the Ministry. There was more shouting, more people giving Severus directions. He had never felt claustrophobic before but he did now, as the surging crowd moved down to the chamber, deep beneath the Ministry, where the Wizengamot met. For a moment, as they stood waiting for a lift, Severus nearly bolted. He remembered his last appearance before the august body and almost turned to Harry to say, 'on second thought, I can live with my grotty little potions shop' but as he turned, Harry gave him a an enormous grin and squeezed his arm.

"I'd say I'm sorry," Harry said, bending close so Severus could hear him over the crowd, "but you know that, don't you?"

For a moment, an unloved child stared up at Severus, who was horrified to recognize so much of himself in that gaze. He had no chance to answer. Minister Pertwee was announcing them and they were ushered inside.

Harry Potter, thought Severus, as he sank into his seat, has turned out much better than Severus thought to give him credit. The awkward boy had somehow grown into a poised, articulate man, who knew precisely how much of his true power to show at any given time. Severus had no idea when Harry had worked on his speech but the man delivered it, passionately and convincingly, repeating everything Severus had said to him the previous day. It was odd, to hear his own words being used by Harry Bloody Potter.

It went on for some time. There was some mumbled opposition. After all, most of the Death Eaters--here several glares were directed at Severus, who returned them--were Slytherins. It was a Dark House and it needed to be wiped out. Harry countered, reminding everyone that Hogwarts was built on a foundation of four Houses. There was some side argument on the strength of a tripod as opposed to a four legged base. The name of Albus Dumbledore was brought in by both sides. Minerva spoke, tears in her eyes, at how it pained her to see children so mistreated. Arthur Weasley spoke, managing to say that while he really thought Gryffindors were the best, there were good things to be said for Slytherins and would Harry tell him all about the interesting things Harry had done while traveling.

Zabini spoke, his children at his side. The youngest Parkinson girl, whose married name Severus could never remember, wept as she told her tale of woe. Severus was genuinely touched when his old colleagues, Sprout and Flitwick, made speeches about how wrong it felt to only have three Houses at Hogwarts. Someone went on for some time about a famous Quidditch player from Slytherin House who had died during the war against Grindelwald. No one seemed quite sure which side he had been on but everyone agreed he had been the best Keeper of his generation.

There was a pause for lunch. Again, Severus felt panicked as people pressed in close and then Harry was there, smiling at him, protectively at his side.

"Long-winded, some of them," Harry murmured. 

Severus had to bend close to hear him. The fall of Severus' hair created an illusion of intimacy, cutting Severus and Harry off from the rest of the bustle around them. Severus nodded in agreement and Harry smiled again. Merlin help me, Severus thought, but I rather like that smile.

The afternoon session dragged on. Severus nearly nodded off twice. Then, a very, very, very old witch, who stood with the assistance of a staff, rose and the room fell silent.

"Madame Bandersnatch?" The Chief Witch of the Wizengamot looked surprised by the old lady.

"Is it coincidence that Harry Potter came back a matter of days after we felt that wave of Dark Magic?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I was considering a visit home when I felt it. Professor Snape says it was someone trying to bring back the Dementors."

There was a gasp that rippled through the people behind Severus, although, he noted, most of the Wizengamot did not look surprised by the statement.

"Is the person trying to bring back the Dementors doing so because of a desire for vengeance against his mis-treatment?"

"I have no idea, Madame," replied Harry, "but I suspect it."

"So, we have created the perfect breeding ground for a new Dark Lord?"

Severus bowed his head to hide his smirk and Harry said, "So it would seem."

"My fellow members, let the idiocy stop here, before we face yet another Dark War. Restore the rights to Slytherins and get on with it before all our buttocks fall off from sitting in these miserable seats." 

Madame Bandersnatch sat down.

"Is that a motion?" asked the Chief Witch.

"Yes, Evalia, that's a motion. Get on with it. My great-grandchildren are coming round after supper for little Slyvia's birthday and I intend to be home, sitting in my comfy chair, before then."

There was a little more discussion, mostly about the proper protocol for the vote, and then the Wizengamot announced the reinstatement of Slytherin House at Hogwarts. After a few cheers, the debate began on how to invite all the surviving Slytherins who had once been member of the Wizengamot back to the fold and whether they would be given their old seats back and should some sort of reception be held. Severus was glad to feel Harry's hand tugging at his sleeve.

They hadn't gone two steps outside the room when Minerva threw her arms around Severus again and hugged him. He really had to get her to stop doing that.

"You can have your old job back start of next term," she sniffled against his shoulder.

"Um, yes," Severus said politely, managing to detach the headmistress from himself, "I'll think about it."

The rest of the evening passed rather in a haze of voices and faces. They ate, at some point, and more people hugged Severus, which annoyed him. Dwizzle's parents were among those who insisted on embracing on Severus but Dwizzle was smart enough to just shake Severus' hand and thank him profusely, then do the same with Harry. Finally, just when Severus was seriously considering hexing the next person who touched him, Harry announced he was a bit worn out and needed his rest. There were lots of apologies, a few more congratulations, and Severus found himself walking slowly up the stairs to his room.

Odd, he thought, how disconnected he felt from all of it. Usually, he was a careful observer of everyone and everything around him but tonight, he doubted if he could clearly recall the names of half a dozen of the people who spoke to him and none of the conversations.

"Whoosh," said Harry dramatically, falling backward on the bed. Severus didn't notice when he had done it but Harry must have enlarged the bed, because it was now twice the size it had been this morning. The walls of the room seemed to have been adjusted to accommodate it because there was still a bit of floor space around it. For that matter, Severus noticed, rather irritated, that his chair had been mended. He aimed a 'Finite Incantatum' at it but nothing happened.

"Oh, I didn't spell the chair. I had Dobby in to tidy the place."

"Oh." 

"Sorry, I should have asked your permission but Dobby showed up and was desperate to do something so I. . .are you all right?"

Harry was sitting up on his elbows, looking pleased with himself. Well, why not, thought Severus, he just waltzed in, reversed ten years of misery and tidied up Snape's bed sit.

"Severus? Dobby's not actually here. He went back to Hogwarts. . ."

"Do you think it's all solved? All set to rights?"

Harry blinked. "You're not talking about the furniture, are you?"

Severus slumped back in his chair, closing his eyes. "No. I'm talking about the world in general. The Wizarding World, that is."

Severus heard the bed squeak as Harry shifted. 

"I'm not an idiot, Severus. I know that the ruling today won't fix everything. It was a gesture towards me, rather than towards Slytherins, but it's a start. And it's a damn sight better than just sitting around moaning over the problem and not doing anything!"

Opening his eyes, Severus looked at Harry, who was standing beside the bed now, taking off his robe and the jacket and tie underneath. The boy. . .the man didn't look as elated as he had earlier. Of course not, said Severus' inner voice, he's stuck in a room with cheery old you.

"Harry, don't think I'm not grateful. Not so much for me but for people like Dwizzle. I have no idea why the Hat put him in Slytherin, he strikes me as more Hufflepuff than anything, but he shouldn't be made to suffer the rest of his life for the misjudgment of an elderly piece of millinery."

A smile quirked the side of Harry's mouth. "I have missed you, Snape, you know that."

"We have barely been out of each other's sight except to use the loo for the past twelve hours. How could you possibly. . ."

Harry Potter had finally found the perfect way to shut up one Severus Snape. Kissing seemed to work extraordinarily well.

There wasn't much conversation after that. Harry tugged Severus slowly towards the expanded bed, unbuttoning Severus' clothes with a chuckle, counting all the buttons as he did so. Then the two men lay back on the bed and Harry, as he had the night before, went to great effort to learn Severus' skin.

In spite of his awkwardness, Severus was determined to get a bit of his own exploring done and Harry, with a sighing laugh, let himself be laid on his back. Severus discovered that Harry liked a bit of light biting on his nipples, seemed a little ticklish along his ribs but not dramatically so, and didn't like to have his ears licked. Severus also found out that Harry Potter did more than moan when someone was sucking his cock. Harry Potter begged and shouted and commanded and laughed.

The power tingled across his skin and Harry's semen filled his mouth and this, thought Severus as he sucked Harry to orgasm, is what I've wanted all my life, what I sought, uselessly from Tom Riddle and foolishly from Albus Dumbledore. To be more than just useful but to be wanted, to be needed, to even be desired, by someone more powerful. Ten years ago, the realization that what Severus Snape really wanted in life was to be kneeling between Harry Potter's legs might have been unpleasant but Severus had had time for a great deal of reflection, as he lived his quiet, lonely life, no longer distracted by children or spying. Tonight, it just made Severus smile his faint smile as Harry Potter reached for him.

As he always did, Severus awoke abruptly, instantly fully alert. Judging by the angle of the sun as it came in the window, it was early still. There was no sound from the shop below. Dwizzle wasn't likely to be here yet. Harry was lying face down again, drooling on to his pillow. Severus was glad the house elf had provided an extra pillow. He might be willing to exchange bodily fluids with Harry Potter but that didn't mean he wanted Harry's spit on his pillow case.

The was a purpling bruise on Harry's shoulder and, had Severus been inclined to blush, he would have. That had happened last night, as well as quite a few other things, including Severus finding out that Harry was quite flexible. Severus had also learned that Harry liked to fuck face-to-face.

Severus' morning erection gave a hopeful twitch at that memory. Harry Potter, lips swollen from kisses, eyes wide with pleasure, skin glazed with sweat, clutching at Severus and moaning, "Yes, harder, like that." 

Which reminded Severus. He leaned over and carefully replaced the lid on the jar of lotion they had used for lubricant. He knew a formula for a lubricant much better suited to sexual contact. Perhaps he should brew a batch up today.

Today.

Harry Potter was in his bed and the House of the Serpent had been restored to Hogwarts.

That tickle filled his chest again, blood warm and almost painful. 

Hope.

For the next several days, Severus found himself surrounded by the stuff. He went to Gringotts and withdrew almost everything in his account and bought some potions supplies. Dwizzle, the foolish boy, was practically beside himself as Severus set out the supplies and started them both brewing potions that had been forbidden to them for years. Sold most of them, as well. Severus found himself writing to the Slytherin girl in Bournemouth, offering her a position, as well as giving poor Dwizzle an increase in his pitiful salary. He spent his days brewing and his nights fucking. It was bound to end badly, he told himself every morning as he headed to his cellar workroom, usually leaving Harry Potter drooling on the pillow, but Severus was going to enjoy it while it lasted.


	3. Potions and solutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, what did you expect?

Severus was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

 

Which turned out to be one week. He had gone to look at a larger shop, with a decent room for an apprentice, since he didn't want to put the new girl on that pallet in the cellar where Dwizzle sometimes slept when a potion needed watching during the night. One place particularly appealed to him, since it came with decent flat for himself. He was walking back from a lunch time meeting with his possible landlord, reading a letter from Minerva, who was asking him again to return to Hogwarts, when he decided to take a short cut through a covered court. It was dark enough he was tucking her letter away in his pocket when a voice said, from the shadows ahead of him, "Hello, Professor," just as someone else cast a spell behind him.

First the aurors at the Ministry, Severus thought with disgust as he fell over, petrified, and now this. Time was no one could have gotten a jump on Severus Snape and now he was lying on the cold cobblestones of a darkened court, staring up a slender young man with silver blond hair. 

"Good to see you, Professor," said Draco Malfoy cheerfully, pulling a pink woman's slipper out of his robes as he knelt. "Been a long time, hasn't it?" The slipper was placed against Severus' palm and the portkey spell activated.

The spell deposited Draco Malfoy and Severus in the middle of tidy, middle class lounge, with a braided rug on the floorboards and some worn furniture scattered around the edges of the room. Two things set it apart from any other Wizarding house in Britain; a double portrait of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, painted on the occasion of their wedding, glaring down over the mantelpiece and the presence of their son.

A bulky wizard, who Severus suspected was Vincent Crabbe, moved out of Severus' line of sight. Draco, with a put upon sigh, seated himself in an overstuffed chair and stared down at Severus. After a moment, he flicked his wand, muttered the charm and Severus found the mechanisms of his body he would need for speech to be unpetrified.

"You don't seem surprised to see me, Professor." 

"No. Startled, in the sense I wasn't expecting you just now, but not surprised."

"No?" Draco tilted his head to one side. He wore his hair long, now, like his father had, but he was thinner than Lucius, his features more pinched, and his robes were definitely not up to Lucius' standards. "I was killed, most unpleasantly, by one Hermione Granger, in front of witnesses."

"Yes. I never quite believed that."

"Oh? And why not?"

"Come now, Draco, no true Gryffindor would use an Incendio curse like that. She might have petrified you or stunned you or tried some less fatal, and certainly less gruesome means of doing someone in but not burning someone to death. Not Miss Granger."

"So, you were suspicious all along?"

Severus sighed and wished he could move just a little. Why was it the moment you knew you couldn't scratch, everything started to itch? "Especially when the remains of Draco Malfoy were so badly charred as to be almost unidentifiable and Miss Granger herself ran into the Dark Forest, never to be seen again."

"Ah."

"And I knew you were capable of brewing up Polyjuice."

Draco looked pleased. "I was always one of your best students."

"Yes, you were. I'm pleased to see you're not dead."

"Are you? Yet you betray my cause and become Harry Potter's catamite!"

Severus didn't bother to correct Draco's use of the word. Draco looked as if he didn't have quite the grasp on his wits he used to. If he were living in this house, Severus wasn't surprised. It looked more like the home of a Weasley than a Malfoy. Living a common sort of existence would try someone brought up as Draco had been.

"Aside from the fact that Harry Potter is the most powerful wizard alive at the moment, it must not have escaped you that he was the one who persuaded the Wizengamot to lift the restrictions on Slytherins."

Draco gave Severus a feral smile that reminded the older man very much of the late Lucius Malfoy.

"Which, while I'm sure noble," drawled Draco, his voice contemptuous, "actually worked against me."

"If you are trying to rally disaffected Slytherins to support you then, yes, I can see your problem. Draco, there are piles of dust under this sofa. Could you at least move me up off the floor before I start sneezing."

Draco actually looked a bit embarrassed. A few moments later, Severus was seated on the sofa, tied to it by silver cords, but upright and unpetrified. He got a better view of the room, with its floral wallpaper, little bunches of forget-me-nots going from bud to bloom and back again, worn furniture and dusty bric-a-brac. He thought briefly of the drawing room at Malfoy Manor, with damask silk on the walls and genuine Louis XIV furniture arranged tastefully around an exorbitantly expensive carpet woven, so Lucius had claimed, from unicorn hair.

"I hate this place," Draco muttered as he checked the bindings holding Severus and confiscated Severus' wand. "Belongs to Vincent's family. Manor got taken over the bloody Ministry. Do you know what they are using it for?"

"No."

"A 'retreat.'" Draco sneered and Severus gave him nine out of ten. "Ministry officials go to MY house and lounge about on MY furniture, drinking the wine out of MY cellar while they discuss Ministry business and unwind from the 'stress' of their jobs." His tone of voice was so sarcastic even Severus winced, although he had to agree with Draco that letting a bunch of Ministry bureaucrats sully the Manor was a tragedy. "Bastards, the lot of them." Draco pointed at the portrait of his parents. "One of the house elves loyal to my family saved that from being burnt and gave it to me! Burnt! It's a BLOODY NATIONAL TREASURE!"

Severus, who glanced over at the picture, thought it wasn't a national treasure but it was a nice work. After all, the subjects were attractive. Lucius was sitting on one of those throne like chairs he had had all over his house, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Narcissa was standing, slightly turned away from the viewer, looking out the painted window at the painted landscape. The angle at which she stood gave the viewer a particularly good angle of her ornate wedding robes. When Lucius noticed Severus studying him, he winked, then closed his eyes. Severus suspected even a painted Lucius Malfoy wouldn't want to look at this room. The upholstery choices really were unfortunate.

Keeping his tone mild, Severus said "Your father was one of the leaders of the movement to destroy the Ministry. It's hardly surprising they took their revenge."

"No, it's not." Draco aimed a last kick at the ottoman, which was covered in faded violet velvet, with fraying bullion fringe around the bottom edge, "But it's still damned annoying. And I want my home back." He gave Severus a long, piercing look. "I want my revenge on their revenge."

"Hence, the Sons of the Serpent."

"Ah!" Draco actually clapped his hands in delight. "You have heard of us."

"Very original name." Severus' voice was dry. "And while I certainly sympathize with your cause, do you really think bringing back the Dementors is such a good idea? Even the Dark Lord was hard pressed to control them."

Draco's reaction to Severus' remark was unexpected. He swore, loudly, and threw a curse at the velvet ottoman that set it on fire.

"Circe damned spell didn't work!" Draco paced across the room, muttering under his breath about badly brewed potions and poorly drawn runes and mispronounced words. Severus had some idea of what it would involve to bring the Dementors back and even if Draco were as powerful as Dumbledore or Riddle had been, the spell was still devilishly complicated.

"Draco, do you. . ."

"SILENCIO!" Draco's wand was quivering as it pointed at Severus. His voice dropped to a low hiss as he said, "Severus Snape, traitor to the cause. You betrayed my FATHER!" Draco swung his wand to gesture at the portrait of Lucius. Severus noticed that Lucius was watching, looking, Severus thought, rather unhappy.

Draco was shouting now, spittle flying. "LIAR! BETRAYER! AVADA. . ." 

Before Draco could finish the spell, Lucius stood up and called out sharply, "DRACO! Remember your plan!"

Draco froze, then turned toward the portrait. "Oh, yes. Of course, thank you, Father." He spun back towards Severus, smiling. There was no question in Severus' mind that Draco Malfoy was mad as a hatter and from the expression on Lucius' painted face, Lucius knew it as well.

"Imagine my surprise to read in the Daily Prophet that the glorious and heroic Harry Bloody Potter had come home to save the Slytherins. It disgusted me, to be 'saved' by Potty Potter again!"

The flames from the merrily burning ottoman gave Draco's thin face a demonic look. He was spinning around now, waving his wand as if it were a conductor's baton. Severus felt sick. He had never liked Draco Malfoy; the boy was arrogant, selfish, vain and spoiled. He had all of his father's faults with none of the smooth charm that made Lucius tolerable. Still, Draco had been Severus' student and a capable one at that. Draco could have achieved a great deal in his life, if only his father hadn't fallen under the sway of the late Tom Riddle and sold his birthright. Severus looked over at the portrait again. Lucius had moved to stand beside Narcissa and both were staring out the window. Severus couldn't be sure, it might be a trick of the light, but Narcissa seemed to be weeping as Lucius laid a comforting arm across her shoulder.

"And if that weren't disgusting enough," Draco was saying, "I find out that Harry Potter is sharing digs with Professor Severus Snape, former head of Slytherin House! You vile, nasty. . ." Draco sprang forward, the tip of his wand digging into Severus' chin. "Bet you wanted to get under our robes back at school, you perverted, sickening, disgusting. . ."

"DRACO!" It was Lucius again. 

Draco's chest was heaving. His arm was trembling as it pressed the tip of his wand deeper under Severus' jaw. Severus tried to pull away but the cords held him fast. Draco's pupils were pinpoints and Severus wondered if Draco were brewing a few illegal potions to augment his magical abilities, at the cost of his sanity.

Suddenly, Draco stepped back, smoothing his hair and robes. He extinguished the burning ottoman and, for a moment, was the self-assured young man Severus had once known. 

"We came up with a plan, my dear Papa and I." Draco gestured towards the portrait. Lucius was still staring out the window. The view, Severus knew from having seen the painting close up, was of Malfoy Manor in spring and was quite lovely. "A very clever plan. If I want to gather my poor, maltreated, unloved Slytherins to me, then those poor, maltreated unloved Slytherins had damn well better be poor and maltreated and unloved." Draco's thin lips turned down and crease appeared between his eyes. "Then Potter comes along and suddenly my followers are muttering that maybe everything will be all right. Everything will just fine, with Potter leading us. Unless. . ."

Oh, Lucius, thought Severus as he felt the hope flutter away and die, even ten years dead you manage to ruin my life again.

Draco was no Harry Potter, nor was he Tom Riddle. He probably couldn't summon the banished Dementors, nor could he seriously threaten the Wizarding World just yet. He was talented,though, intelligent, ambitious and cunning. With time, Draco Malfoy could become a danger. As he was now, he was only a minor problem. Still, he had power, he had the desire necessary to use that power and he could cast an Imperius.

When Severus Snape came in the rear door of his shop, just at closing time, he startled his apprentice.

"Professor!" Dwizzle cried, nearly dropping the vial he held in his hand. "I've been worried. You said you'd be back by two and it's nearly six! There is an owl from the new apprentice in addition to nearly two dozen orders!"

"Yes, yes." Severus waved his hand at the anxious boy as if dismissing a fly. "Go home, Augustus, that's a good lad."

Dwizzle stared at his employer as the wizard turned to go down the steps that led to the workroom in the basement. It wasn't like Professor Snape to be late, or to neglect to balance the till or to ignore the post. Perhaps, thought Dwizzle, with a bit of trepidation, the Professor had decided to return to Hogwarts to teach. Still, he had been dismissed, his mum no doubt had dinner ready for him and he had had a long, busy day. Dwizzle closed and locked the shop behind himself and went home.

In the cellar, Severus carefully set out the ingredients he needed, working with the quick yet graceful efficiency that had marked his brewing since he was a boy. A week ago, he couldn't have made this potion, he wouldn't been allowed to have all the necessary ingredients but since the prohibitions had been lifted on the Slytherins, he had stocked his pantry fully. 

The base was simple and quick to brew. Then he added the ingredients that had been forbidden. Thirteen stirs widdershins with a tarnished copper spoon, a sprinkle of dried nightshade leaf and the potion was done. Severus poured it into a bottle and left the workroom, leaving his implements unwashed, out on the table top. 

In his room, he heated water, carefully adding the potion to it just as it began to boil, then set out the rest of the tea things, adding a warming spell so the water would stay just at the right temperature for a good hot cup of tea and sat down to wait.

He had a clock on the battered shelf above his bed, a small Wizarding Clock with only his name on it. The times marked were sleeping, eating, brewing and thinking. Just at the moment, the clock hand was stuck between the brewing and thinking markers, as if it were uncertain. Severus wasn't really thinking. His mind was caught in a peculiar rut, going round and round the thought that he had to offer Harry Potter tea as soon as Harry Potter arrived. As soon as Harry Potter arrived, he had to offer him tea. He had to offer Harry Potter tea as soon as. . .

The clock ticked without tocking.

The sunlight faded away until the room was lit with the last warm glow of a late summer sunset.

Someone was coming up the stairs sounding like a herd of hippogriffs.

"Ah. Potter. Tea?"

Harry frowned as he saw Severus sitting by the table in the gloom. With a flick of his wrist, Harry lit the candles on the table and the lamp on the wall. Severus was sitting rigidly, one hand resting on the tea tin. A thin line of steam was rising from the spout of the pot.

"Tea?" repeated Severus, not looking at Harry but at the tea pot, as if he had never seen one quite like it before. 

"No, thank you." Harry slid surreptitiously slid his wand into his hand.

"You must have some tea, Potter. It's cold outside."

"No, actually it's warm."

Severus' voice, which had been slow and inflectionless, suddenly took on the tone of the Potions Master who brooked no argument from his students.

"You will have tea, Potter!"

"Fine. Just a splash of milk, no lemon, and only a little sugar."

Severus poured carefully, two cups, both the same, then started to hand one cup to Harry.

"Where were you today, Severus?" asked Harry, not reaching for the cup. "I came by at four and Dwizzle was quite worried that you were late. It's not like you to be late."

"Tea, Potter." Severus' hand shook just enough that cup rattled in the saucer. There were two cups and saucers now, instead of the one. Had been since the morning Severus didn't wake up alone. He hadn't really thought about it until now. 

Harry sat down on the edge of the bed. "You left your cauldron out downstairs, and your utensils. Not like you, Severus."

"Tea, Potter." The cup rattled again. Two cups. Two saucers. One for him. One for Potter. For Harry.

"Look at me, Severus."

The soft voice was commanding. Severus wanted to obey but another voice, this one more shrill, distracted him. "Poison Potter," the other voice was saying, trying to drown out any others. "Brew a quick acting poison and poison Harry Potter. POISON HARRY POTTER!"

"SEVERUS!"

Severus lifted his head with a jerk, the cup flying off the saucer to splash on the floor. Harry Potter's green eyes, so intense and now so familiar, stared into Severus'.

"Legilimens," whispered Harry Potter.

The dark court. The voice. The portkey. Draco Malfoy. The braided rug. The painting. The burning ottoman. Draco Malfoy. The wand. The Unforgivable. Draco Malfoy.

"HARRY!"

Severus staggered backward, as if he needed to put a distance between himself and Harry to protect the younger wizard. Harry's odd response was to grin.

"Congratulations, Severus! You resisted an Imperius."

"Resisted!" Severus could hear the disgust in his voice. "I would have poisoned you if I could."

Harry tilted his head to one side, still smiling. "You couldn't. That's what counts. Should we do something about that?" Harry pointed his wand at the puddle by the broken tea cup. 

Severus pulled out his wand and banished the puddle, the contents of the remaining cup and what was left in the pot.

"So," said Harry, still sounding far too pleased with himself, "Reports of Draco Malfoy's death turn out to be a bit off the mark. Wonder how he managed that."

"Polyjuice." 

"What?"

Severus rubbed his temples, annoyed at the headache that was pounding through them. At least the Imperius had kept the pain away. "He dosed himself with Polyjuice containing one of Miss Granger's hairs and somehow dosed her with a batch containing one of his."

"I suppose it shouldn't surprise me the Potions Master's prize pupil uses a potion."

"I tried to tell those gits at the Ministry that every single body should be carefully identified in case of just such an occurrence but no one listened to me, of course."

Harry frowned, thinking it over. "You suspected back then?"

"Didn't I just say that! Between the Incendio curse and the missing body, I was nearly certain that Malfoy had done just what it turns out he did."

"But no one at the Ministry listened."

Severus gave the idiot a glare, before pushing past him. He had a bottle of pain potion in his bathroom and just now, after the day he had had, he needed it. Harry followed him down the steps and watched Severus take the bottle out and dose himself.

"You knew, didn't you, that Malfoy was alive." Harry's voice was now nearly as flat as Severus' had been earlier.

"No, Mr. Potter! I did not 'know' Draco was alive." Severus sat down on the edge of bath tub, suddenly very tired. "I suspected it. I heard rumors to that effect. But I wasn't sure."

"So, you haven't been protecting him all these years?"

"Don't be ridiculous! Even I had been certain, whether I wanted to protect him or not would have been moot. The Ministry would have had to admit they were wrong about Draco's death in the first place and they would have been unlikely to do so." Severus winced as a muscle in his neck spasmed in pain. "And as you may have noticed, the Ministry wasn't inclined to listen to me anyway."

Harry's face twisted into an unnatural smile. "But the Ministry will listen to me, won't it?"

Severus rubbed his hands over his face. He kept picturing Draco's face lit by flames. Draco living in a middle class home, wearing robes that were nearly as mended as Severus' own. Draco, his mind gone, his dead father watching regretfully from the painting. If Severus had been capable of weeping, he might have.

"Let it go, Harry," he said, noticing vaguely that his voice sounded very old and very tired.

"What?"

Severus looked at the young wizard standing in the narrow doorway. Harry was wearing dark blue robes today, over trousers of the same color. The robes were open enough to show the pale grey collarless shirt he wore underneath. His clothes were elegant, fashionable and new. Harry was wearing what Draco Malfoy should be wearing.

"You won, Harry, and Draco. . ."

"DRACO MALFOY KILLED HERMIONE!" Harry took a step towards Severus'. He looked as if he wanted to give Severus a shake and was restrained only by the size of the bathroom. "That bastard burned her to death and left her friends and family to mourn without ever being sure what happened to her!"

"I know that," Severus snapped back. "I just told you that."

"And you just told me to let it go. To let Draco Malfoy get away with murder."

"In a manner of speaking, Mr. Potter, both you and I have gotten away with murder."

Harry's eyes narrowed and Severus remembered how he suffered whenever he crossed any of his masters. The Dark Lord was direct. He tossed a Cruciatus or had the late Walden MacNair deliver a few well-aimed blows. Dumbledore was more subtle, using generous helpings of guilt seasoned with references to what would happen to Severus if Dumbledore's protection were ever removed. Funny, Severus hadn't thought, at the end, that he still needed Dumbledore's protection. Turned out he was wrong. Now he was about to find out what price he would pay for crossing Harry Potter.

"That," said Harry, his voice cold steel, "was completely different."

Severus waved the objection away, vaguely embarrassed to be having such a serious conversation in his bathroom. "Malfoy is paying the price now and. . ."

"HE IS FREE!" Severus felt the pulse of Harry's power, much as he had at the Ministry, only now it was directed at him. "Don't tell me Dean was right! Don't tell me you still favor your Slytherins. . ."

"Of course I favor my Slytherins!" shouted Severus, pushing himself to his feet. "Someone has to! You certainly don't think that your traipsing in here will solve. . ."

"My 'traipsing' in here saved your skinny arse, Snape! And if you think I'm going to let Draco Malfoy get away. . ."

"He hasn't gotten away with anything! Listen to me. . ."

"Tell me where Draco is."

The order wasn't an Imperius but it was close. Severus nearly bit his tongue stopping himself. He shook his head and looked away, knowing what Harry would use next. Harry's mind poked at his but while Harry was powerful, Severus had experience and guile on his side. After a moment, Harry gave up.

"He killed Hermione Granger." Harry's voice was shaking with anger. "He tried to have you kill me! He deserves to be punished."

"And you are not the executioner who makes that decision!" Severus' voice echoed in the tiny room. "I will not serve you Draco's head on a platter to fulfill your desire for revenge!"

"Fine, protect Draco Malfoy, if he's so bloody important to you!" Harry's face was tight with fury, his whole body radiating his anger at Severus. "But I know he's out there and when I tell the Ministry, they'll find him."

Was it worth pointing out, Severus thought as Potter stormed off down the stairs, that the Ministry had probably had its suspicions already but had refused to act on them. The door slammed and Severus winced.

One week, he thought, standing up and turning to the sink to splash water on his face. It had been an excellent week. He could brew what he wanted, go where he wanted, and not be legally shunned, although there were still enough Wizards and Witches who automatically distrusted him and quite a few who, for very good reason, disliked him. Plus, of course, there had been the good food and even better sex.

Would he still have all those orders downstairs once the word got out that Harry Potter hated him again? Would Minerva still want him back? Would he have to go back to his desperate scrabble to survive? He'd certainly be alone, again. No point in keeping that second cup and saucer. He looked at his reflection and when he saw the misery in his own eyes, looked away.

You could go chase the boy down, he told himself, sitting on the edge of the bath again. Grovel and beg, the way you did with your other masters. Grovel and beg and sell the shredded remains of your soul in order to serve someone else.

The window panes rattled as a bit of anger leaked out of Severus. He quickly reined it in. He hadn't had an outburst of accidental magic in years and he wasn't starting now. Yes, he had made an enemy of Harry Potter--again--and the only person in years who actually seemed to care about him had just stormed out, imagining that Severus was more concerned with Draco Malfoy, of all people, than Harry Potter. And yes, that person was probably going to tell the Ministry that Severus Snape, as it turned out, couldn't be trusted. It would seem that Severus' life had just taken another turn for the worse, just when he thought it couldn't get worse.

The thoughts were too painful to contemplate. To distract himself, he went down to his workroom. His potions had often comforted him, when no living person could. They were dependable and made no judgments. Plus they required considerable concentration and Severus had used that effort to take his mind off his troubles countless times before. 

The sight of the cauldron hanging from its hook, a used cutting board and discarded knife and spoon next to it, sent a chill through Severus. He could have killed Harry. The thought made him sick. Even though Harry had come to his senses and was no doubt even now arranging for Severus to be arrested for consorting with the enemy or some such charge, for a few brief moments, Severus had truly believed the other man cared for him.

It wasn't just the sex, either. It had been Harry sitting across from him, chatting away in the sort of friendly manner Severus had rarely experienced before. It was Harry laying a hand on Severus' shoulder to peer over it into a cauldron or Harry gently teasing Severus as they went to shop for new robes. How many shades of black are there, Harry had asked, smiling, as Severus chose between "inky black" and "smoky black" and "blackest black" for his new robe. It was looking up from his book to see Harry Potter watching him, and then having Harry smile shyly at being caught. It was Harry urging him to eat more and not work so hard.

Sweet Merlin, thought Severus, as his chest tightened in pain. Could he go back to his old life now?

He had put the cutting board, knife and spoon into the basin to wash and was about to vanish the residue in the cauldron when he thought, there should be enough left. Severus was still underweight and he had brewed a powerful batch. All he had to do was decant the poison into a cup and drink it up. It was tasteless, odorless and relatively painless. He would just fall asleep and never wake up alone again.

Severus was reaching for a cup when he heard the back door open and shut. Whoever it was, although Severus was quite certain it was Harry, went upstairs, then came down, his steps dragging.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry dropped on to the stool next to where Severus stood. He looked almost as tired as Severus felt. Severus was fairly sure that if he were to apologize and beg, as he had with Riddle and Dumbledore, he could get Harry back, but would that lead to more begging? Severus was very tired of being the eternal supplicant.

"It was seeing him in your head," Harry said with a sigh. "And thinking about what happened to Hermione. I'm sorry."

No, it wasn't worth it. Severus wasn't going to grovel for another master. He drew himself up, putting on his Potions Master persona for the last time. "Sorry for what, Mr. Potter."

Harry gave him a weary smile. "For calling your arse skinny. It's a bit lacking in padding but it's a very nice arse. And for not letting you explain yourself. Do you really want to protect Draco?"

"If you saw him in my mind, you saw that Draco is mad, among other things."

Harry nodded. He had pulled out his wand and was spinning it idly in his fingers. If another wizard had done that, Severus would have found it threatening. With Harry, it really did seem to be a simple nervous reaction.

"Draco Malfoy has few resources." Severus found his voice taking on a lecturing tone. Seventeen years of practice came back to him. "He has his name, which draws some followers to him, but he had neither his father's wealth nor Lucius' charisma. He is a powerful wizard but does not command vast resources. And if his mind is going, soon enough, he will no longer be a threat. And while he is a minor threat now, he is a threat whose scope we fully grasp."

"Better the devil you know."

Severus nodded. "Yes. Were Draco Malfoy to end up in Azkaban or St. Mungo's, another disaffected wizard would take his place. In that case, we might not know who that wizard was, nor what they were capable of. I prefer to know my enemies."

Severus could see Harry turning it over in his head. He hated to admit it but Harry had never been stupid, merely impulsive and misguided.

"I wanted it to be over." Harry was saying softly, looking at the wand spinning between his fingers, " That's why I left. So I won't have to deal with any of it. But just because I left didn't mean everyone else didn't have to pick up the pieces."

"We established that."

Harry sighed and slid his wand away, although he still kept his head down.

"I wanted to come back here, have you fall madly in love with me and we would live happily ever after. I didn't take into account that you might feel some genuine responsibility for your former students and housemates. I didn't take into account that you might feel. . ." Harry raised his head and looked directly at Severus. ". . .guilty for what happened to some of them."

Severus' rusty laugh made both of them wince. "I wish I could have helped some of them, although I'm certain Draco was a lost cause from the day of his birth but yes, I was their Head of House. I couldn't directly tell them to avoid service to the Dark Lord. I tried to convey to them, including Draco, that blind obedience to anyone was a bad idea but considering the situation I was in. . ."

Harry stood up and, after a moment's hesitation, took the two steps across the workroom to stand next to Severus.

"Blind obedience never seemed your style."

"No? Ask me to kill, I killed. Ask me to spy, I spied. Ask me to spread my legs. . ."

Harry gasped. Severus, who felt as if his head were full of cotton wool, blinked at the younger wizard. He must be tired, if he were letting truths like that slip. Then again, Severus had been planning to be dead in a few minutes. The shock, Severus thought, of still being alive must account for his carelessness.

"That's what you meant," Harry said, laying his hand on Severus' arm. "About me requiring something of you."

Severus shrugged. "Wasn't it?"

"No." Harry reached one hand up and touched Severus' cheek. There was something in those eyes that made Severus feel as if he were falling. He swayed and Harry steadied him. 

"Do you want me?" Harry's voice was gentle. "Simple question. Honest answer?"

Severus laughed bitterly, aware of the stinging in his eyes. "What do I want? What does it matter?"

"It matters to me. Severus, tell me."

He closed his eyes, feeling the tears slip past his lashes. His throat was tight as he said, "I don't know what I want. Whenever I thought I wanted something and I got it, I regretted it." He felt Harry's fingers brush his cheeks and he opened his eyes. Harry looked blurry and Severus tried to blink away the tears.

"I know what I want," said Harry. "I want fairness and hope and a future without mad men trying to take over the world."

"Oh, that's not much!" Severus was pleased to hear a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "No, it's not. Barring that, I want to get to know you and to figure out if what I felt for you at seventeen was love. And if we can make a future together."

"Still complicated."

"True." Harry was leaning affectionally against him now. "How about, I want to go to bed with you and we'll worry about the future in the morning."

Could it be that simple? At least, for the moment. Harry's lips brushed Severus', then Harry stepped back, head cocked to one side, waiting. Severus looked around the room, his eyes coming back to rest on the cauldron with its damning residue. Harry hadn't brought the aurors back, just as Albus hadn't when he had the chance. With a flick of his wand and a muttered word, Severus banished the poison residue. After all, if he needed it again, he could always brew up another batch.

"I'm a bit too tired for sex," Harry was saying, his hand warm in Severus' as they walked up the stairs. "It's been a stressful evening. How about a cuddle?" 

Severus laughed, surprised to hear genuine amusement in the sound. "Very well, Mr. Potter, if you insist. A 'cuddle' it is."

Harry laughed as well, pulled him towards the bed and Severus decided that yes, he could wait until morning to worry about the future. There was his bed and there was Harry Potter and, for now, that would suffice.

 

October 8, 2004


End file.
